The Road to Tartarus
by Lizardbeth J
Summary: After a devastating attack on the Tok'ra, Sam has become host to a larval queen and must face the aftermath. But when an old enemy stirs, Malek and his host Asheron will sacrifice everything to save Sam and the hope for their people's future. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**THE ROAD TO TARTARUS**

_In the aftermath of a devastating attack on the Tok'ra, Sam takes a larval Tok'ra queen host. As she faces the consequences of becoming an alien on her homeworld, Malek's host Asheron discovers the terrible consequences of his long-ago vengeance. But when an old enemy stirs, Asheron finds that the price of Sam's life may be his own soul._

_What do you do when the one who knows you best is a Goa'uld?_

_-  
_

**Sequel: **This is third in the Asheron Series, begun (a while back) with Tok'ra Allegiance and Going Home. Those stories are useful background, but not necessary.

**Spoilers: **This is an AU of Season 8 and part of 9. I use events and characters through Insiders, and a little bit of Atlantis.

**Content: **Because of content restrictions, this is a bit less explicit than the original version of this story. For the complete adult version, you can go to my livejournal index page: lizardbeth-j. livejournal. com/ 248766. html (remove spaces and paste)

**Pairings: **Sam/Malek (Asheron), Asheron/Baal

**NOTE: **This story is complete and is about 97,000 words long. (and yes, I spell it Baal. There are plenty apostrophes already)

Enjoy! Comments are love!

* * *

**Part One: The Road Down**

**Chapter One**

Sam stepped out of the wormhole onto the ramp of the gateroom. As always she felt a sense of relief that she was back home, but this time it was tempered by some anxiety. For the first time she had done something that couldn't be undone, and it would change everything. For eight years she had been a member of SG-1 and walked through that gate. But now, she had become something else.

Besides the usual complement of SFs, O'Neill and her father were there waiting for them.

Once he saw he had her attention, Jacob raised his arm to wave to her. "Hey, kiddo. How did it go?"

"Hi, Dad. Sir," that was to O'Neill. "We found her." She started slowly down the ramp, with Asheron, Daniel, and Teal'c behind her.

"Thank God," Jacob said with a heartfelt sigh. "That was quick." Then he looked at Asheron and frowned. "And you, my friend, look like crap. Are you all right?"

"Malek and I are well," Asheron answered.

"Rii-ight," Jacob retorted dryly. "But I think we'll hold off on the annoyed, 'Why the hell didn't you tell us' 'til later anyway."

"So," O'Neill stepped forward and rubbed his hands together. "Where's the new Tok'ra queen, then? One of you has the jar in your pack?"

Sam hugged her dad, and she knew the instant Selmak sensed the other symbiote. Jacob stiffened and withdrew partly, keeping his hands on her shoulders, to look in her eyes. "Sam?" he whispered.

She nodded once. More loudly, so that O'Neill could hear too, she announced, "Her name is Turan. And there is no jar, General. She's in me."

O'Neill took a step back, away from her, and she glimpsed the utter revulsion on his face for just a moment until anger replaced it. This his gaze fixed to Asheron, narrowing his eyes. "You did this."

"No, General O'Neill, I did not," Asheron strode down the ramp to stand beside Sam, with his arms folded.

"I did it. I had to," she explained. "She was going to die."

He stared at her, and didn't seem to know what to say. She knew anything he **wanted** to say was sure to be offensive to the Tok'ra.

"Jack, why not let them all go to medical," Jacob suggested, with a deliberate glance at the watching SFs. "We'll debrief later."

"Right, good idea," O'Neill seized on it like a lifeline. "Debrief in one hour, people."

He turned on his heel and was out the door as if he couldn't bear to be near them one second more than necessary.

Sam exchanged a glance with her dad and let out a sigh.

"He'll get over it, Sam," Jacob reassured.

She just raised her eyebrows. She hoped so, but she knew how long O'Neill could hold a grudge. "Okay, let's get upstairs."

She led the way, realizing only when she got to the door that Asheron wasn't following. Gesturing Teal'c and Daniel ahead, she went back a few steps. "Come on. You, too."

"We're fine," he insisted again.

She snorted. "Maybe. But just let Doctor -- " she started, but Jacob moved forward.

"Sam, let me." He put a friendly hand on Asheron's shoulder. "I know you don't think it's necessary, but you really do look terrible. And I know if you look terrible, then Malek's not well either. Besides, it's procedure. Don't argue, don't complain, just do it. I'll keep you company and ward off any nurses who might get too friendly."

Sam glanced at Asheron, narrowing her eyes at the thought of overly friendly nurses. But her frown deepened as she got a good look at his face in the brighter light of the gateroom. Her dad was right -- Asheron did look unwell. His skin still looked ashen, and when she touched his hand, his fingers were trembling. More disturbing was the way his gaze had drifted, to stare at the bulkhead blankly.

It hadn't been that long since that priest had tortured him unconscious with a Goa'uld pain stick. Despite his earlier reassurances, he didn't look much better now.

She squeezed his hand to get his attention, but let go before she made a spectacle of herself in the gateroom. "You look like you're about to pass out," she murmured. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He blinked and dug up a small smile for her. "We need only rest."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father glance from her to Asheron and back, and a small frown appeared. She grimaced slightly, knowing the secret was almost out of the bag. He was going to ask, and she was going to have to answer and tell the truth.

"Come on, let's get out of here," she suggested. "At least the infirmary is quieter."

He followed this time, and Jacob brought up the rear.

The best thing about knowingly bringing a symbiote into the SGC was that there were no startled alarms during her MRI.

She wanted to protest that she already had a symbiote so she didn't need an MRI to look for one, but unfortunately she had been one of the writers of the host protocol after Jolinar, so she had to submit to it all.

Turan didn't seem to like the noisy MRI; she kept trying to make Sam's legs move to escape, but all she could do was make them twitch.

Sam tried to think at her, reassuring, "It's okay, it's almost over. Just be quiet." But it was concentrating on peaceful images like walking in the park and looking at flowers that seemed to do the most good at calming Turan down.

After the MRI, the nurses took enough blood to feed a vampire for a week.

All the testing took place with armed guards in the room with her, which she thought ridiculous when Malek had vouched for her symbiote. But perhaps when O'Neill and everyone could see the images of her definitely tiny new friend, they'd relax.

She hoped.

* * *

Asheron had quite enough of all this ridiculous, _**useless**_ medical testing. Having his blood pressure taken was bad enough, but when the nurse smiled brightly at him and said she was going to do a blood test, he was done. "No."

"But -- "

"No. There is no purpose to it, and I won't allow you to poke me with things to check off some list." He stood up and reached for his t-shirt, determined to leave.

"But, sir -- "

"I said, no." He felt a little sorry for the young woman, but not enough to sit there and endure her needles.

Across the infirmary, waiting for Sam, Jacob noticed the confrontation and came over. "What's going on?"

"Sir," she greeted him with some relief, "Doctor Brightman recommended we get a blood sample. His pulse and blood pressure are elevated against the norm we have in his file and --"

"I had a bad morning," Asheron interjected, tone sharp and impatient. "But Malek has the healing well in hand and if you people would stop getting in the way with all your tests, it would go that much faster."

Jacob glanced at him, frowning. "If the doctor feels it necessary then why not -- "

"This doctor knows nothing about Tok'ra," he snapped and yanked the shirt over his head. "And I'm not going to get poked with needles just to satisfy her curiosity."

Jacob paused, probably weighing his knowledge of Asheron's stubbornness and the useless test, and told the nurse, "He's right; it's not medically necessary right now." He waved her away to go tell the doctor.

Asheron watched her go and let out a breath. "Thank you."

Jacob raised his eyebrows at him. "So what was that all about?"

He thought it had been completely self-explanatory. "What do you mean?"

"We so rarely see you in a temper, and I can't help but think it has nothing to do with having your blood taken. What happened this morning?"

It was only after Jacob said it that he realized he was quivering with a deep boiling anger lodged in the middle of his chest and stomach that seemed to threaten to burst out of its confinement. He took several breaths, and Malek helped to ease the excessive response until it faded.

"The last person loyal to Ishtar on the entire planet decided to avenge her," he explained. It felt strange to tell another Tok'ra the truth after so many years of avoidance and outright lies. "_Sha'nik_ prongs. I suppose I've had my fill of pointy things for the day."

Jacob winced. The Goa'uld torture stick was designed specifically to torture hosted symbiotes. In an ordinary person it hit the pain receptors, intense but not lasting, but in a host it attacked the symbiote as well, disrupting its neural connections to the host.

"Malek's not finished yet?" Jacob asked in concern.

Asheron shrugged. "It wasn't that long ago. We came straight back after Sam blended with Turan. She did volunteer, Jacob. I tried to talk her out of it."

Jacob nodded. "I believe you. We'll deal with the consequences later." He looked at Asheron, frowning.

Asheron tensed, knowing what Jacob was going to ask about. And he was right.

Jacob said, "You were the Last King of Naritania; you killed Ishtar. Selmak wants to know why you kept it a secret from her."

Slipping the BDU jacket over his t-shirt let him not look at Jacob. He concentrated on the feel of the buttons, hard and round under his fingers as he buttoned the front. "From everyone, not only Selmak. I didn't want to talk about it."

He'd heard the story of the "Slayer of Ishtar" and how it made him some kind of hero. What the story didn't mention were the two years before he'd killed her -- two years of suffering and death and horror, while he'd been the toy of a vicious Goa'uld queen. They were two years he'd tried very hard to forget.

He felt the weight of Jacob's sympathetic look and could imagine the memories Selmak was letting him share. The nightmares had lingered for years, something Selmak knew, but they had finally faded, as the walls he'd put around the past solidified.

Jacob glanced down and Selmak murmured, "We could have helped you more when you came to us, if we had known the truth. You didn't have to suffer alone."

"I had Malek; I was never alone."

Selmak's hand squeezed his shoulder gently. "That is, of course, true, but you have friends who will listen, now that it seems you are more ready to reveal what happened."

"I appreciate that." He said the words, managed to inflect them with sincerity, but he knew he wouldn't. Dredging up the past was only going to make everything worse -- the trip to Naritania proved that. That life was long gone, and he'd rather just shut the door again.

Sam entered then, and he turned to her, grateful for the interruption. "Everything is all right?" he asked.

She made a face. "Turan wasn't fond of the MRI. But other than that, sure. You ready to go change and debrief?"

He knew it was going to be difficult with O'Neill's hostility, but he agreed with a nod. "Certainly."

In his head Malek was amused. *_Shall I take over?*_

*_Yes, because you were so polite the last time he was rude to us,*_ Asheron retorted.

Malek sent back his disdain about that, but acquiesced with good humor.

* * *

Sam took her usual seat at the briefing room table, wondering how badly this was going to go. She could see O'Neill in the general's office, talking on the phone, and her stomach tightened with apprehension, wondering who he was talking to and if it was something to do with her.

Her dad took the seat next to her, but instead of sitting on her other side, Asheron sat across from her, next to Daniel. She was both disappointed and relieved that he was outside touching distance, but it was probably the wiser choice. But his position let her look at him easily, and he seemed better, not so pallid or drawn. He caught her gaze and lifted his eyebrows in question. She just shook her head a little, smiling.

O'Neill emerged from his office, and Sam started to rise, but settled back down at his gesture, as he headed for his chair.

"All right," he said after he took his seat and let out a long breath. "Last I heard, you guys were digging around in the archives, looking for a clue to where Egeria hid her missing daughter, future of the Tok'ra race. Now you find her and she ends up in Carter. How the hell did that happen?"

"Egeria was on the run from Ra - it was probably one of her last acts, to birth a daughter and hide her," Daniel explained. "We know she chose Inannar because Ishtar was a strong enemy of the house of Ra."

Jack circled his hands for Daniel to hurry up. "Yes, Ishtar being the bitch goddess successor of Marduk and Tiamat, I remember. And then she got waxed by Asheron here, and we got Baal in her place. Such a charming family."

"Anyway," Daniel said, clearing his throat. "It turned out that the tablet which led us to Inannar had a double meaning. We went through a set of transport rings up to the shrine at the top of the ziggurat. But the priest we were with deciphered it first, and he ambushed us. He wasn't willing to let Ishtar's enemy or her betrayer -- " he glanced at Asheron, "find what we were looking for."

"We fought him," Sam added, "but in the firefight, the stasis box was hit and broken. To save her life, she had to take a host."

"And it had to be you?" O'Neill challenged.

She very carefully didn't clench her fists on the top of the table, keeping them flat except for her fingernails digging at the smooth surface. "Malek was going to sacrifice himself so Asheron could take her, but that seemed stupid. Teal'c couldn't take her. That left me or Daniel, and it had to be me. At least I'd had Jolinar, I know what being a host is like."

"Yeah, controlled against your will and then left in the lurch," O'Neill muttered.

Sam stiffened, but that was nothing compared to Asheron's reaction. He jerked back in his chair as if struck across the face and then leaned forward, fixing O'Neill with dark, cold eyes. "Kanan would never have gone to rescue Shallen if not for you, O'Neill. That was your choice."

"My choice?" O'Neill repeated incredulously and then got angry. "Let me tell you about my choice -- I didn't have one. From the instant that snake came in my head, it was nothing but hell - controlled and manipulated and abandoned like a **coward --" **he snarled the word.

"You tell yourself stories all you want, but you and I both know that's not all there was to it, " Asheron interrupted. "You agreed, didn't you? You agreed Kanan should go; you just didn't understand the price you were going to pay for it. That wasn't his fault. He was trying to **protect **you."

"He was trying to save his own slimy ass!"

"He **died**for you. Then you wonder why we never trusted **you, **when you never acknowledge what we've lost because of you," Asheron spat out furiously.

Jacob interrupted, trying to get control of the discussion that had gone so rapidly off the rails, "Asheron, Jack --"

Asheron stopped abruptly, eyes flickering, and his lips tightened in chagrin. He addressed the rest of the table, lifting his gaze to Sam, "Forgive me. It's been a difficult few days." He shoved his chair back and walked out of the room.

In the silence that followed, Jacob gave a sigh. "You could try to be less provoking, Jack."

"He could try to be less of an ass," O'Neill shot back.

Sam bit her tongue on saying that applied to him, too.

But Jacob just shook his head and used that impatient "dad" chastising voice she knew all too well. "He was tortured this morning and had to return to the place he suffered horribly for two years. Cut him some slack. And stop blaming him for what happened with Kanan. Kanan's dead, and except for the three of us, so are the rest of the Tok'ra. Let it go."

O'Neill was still looking mulish, so Sam added, trying to get through to him, "Asheron and Malek didn't force me to take Turan. It was **my** choice, not theirs."

"All right, fine." O'Neill held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, and pulled in a deep breath to set his anger aside with effort. "So where are we at? You're sure this is a queen Tok'ra? Not a Goa'uld? It was a Goa'uld temple, after all."

Daniel answered, "The box was right where the tablet led. And it was marked in the Tok'ra symbol of the two fish entwined in a sort of yin-yang symbol."

"That's not much proof."

"Sam? You should know," Jacob invited. "You've had a larval Goa'uld before. You should be able to tell."

"She's very different than that Trust clone," Sam answered slowly. Funny - it just proved how 'interesting' her life was, when she'd nearly forgotten her short time as a Goa'uld host. "It tried to take me over, even though it wasn't very good at it. Turan just feels ... young and scared. She's very quiet so far."

"Well, that's good, I guess," O'Neill said and tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. He glanced at Jacob. "I don't suppose you know of some potential new hosts? Or are we gonna have to recruit here on Earth? Because I'm not looking forward to that, at all."

Sam exchanged a glance with her dad, and O'Neill caught it. He let out a groan. "What is it now?"

Jacob answered, a little too apologetically for Sam's taste, "That's not possible. A larva that immature can't stand the strain of taking another host. She would die."

"How long are we talking about?" O'Neill asked, the look on his face wary as if he knew the answer but didn't want to say it.

"Until she's an adult, by preference," Jacob answered. "Years, certainly, before she's strong enough."

O'Neill repeated it, in disbelief and horror, "Years?"

"She's very small," Sam explained and held out her fingers just two inches apart to demonstrate.

"She can't be more than a year old," Jacob added. "Maybe not much beyond newborn, if we're right about how quickly Egeria had to birth her and get her into hiding before Ra came after her. It'll take awhile."

"But years?" O'Neill repeated again and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "How many years?"

"Five years at least," Jacob answered, but Sam put a hand on his arm to stop him from going on. He was trying to shorten the time, pandering to O'Neill's hostility, but she wasn't interested in playing that game.

"It's done," she answered, looking straight at O'Neill. "I knew what I was doing. I'm her host, and I'm not going to count the minutes until I get rid of her. She's part of me now, and we need to figure out where we go from here."

He looked back, considering, then gave in with a nod. "Fine. Moving on then, as requested. General Hammond and chain of command -- " he waved his hand vaguely upward, "have ordered you to remain on base for now, until we get the ramifications of this all sorted. The threat of exposure of the program and aliens, not to mention your safety -- "

"My safety?" she repeated dubiously.

He gave her a look. "Wouldn't be the first time you'd been kidnapped because of a Tok'ra, Carter. And your new friend is going to be the worst kept secret in the entire SGC very soon, you know that."

"But, my house-- "

"-- is a security nightmare," he finished. "Just... stay on base, okay? We'll work something out, some kind of security like Jacob gets, for you to leave."

"I can't have guards all the time outside, that's ridiculous," she protested.

"Well, you should've thought about that before you decided to get an alien in your head, shouldn't you?" Jack retorted.

Daniel said in a reproving tone, "Jack..."

He held up a hand and changed the subject, "Anything else you need to tell me about your mission?"

For one heartbeat, Sam was tempted to tell him that she'd slept with Asheron, just to slap him in the face with it, but bit her tongue. Then she remembered that Asheron had one of the spacious VIP quarters up on 16, and it wasn't going to be all **that** bad being stuck on base. She'd have company at least.

"Nothing important," she answered, with a smile.

She felt her smile widen when O'Neill frowned in confusion when he glanced at her and realized she was smiling. He eyed her again, looking suspicious and a bit unnerved, and paused as if waiting for her to explain but she didn't.

"Okay, then," he said after a moment and tapped the top of the table with both hands. "I guess we're done."

She was still smiling when she left the briefing room.

* * *

Sam found Asheron in the commissary, a sealed yogurt cup in front of him and a styrofoam cup full of very black tea with the bag still in it. He was staring off at nothing, his gaze a million miles away. She thought she might sneak up on him, but he glanced up as she approached the table, then down to his tea. "How did it go after I left?"

Sitting in the chair next to him, she indulged in a sigh and stole the yogurt from him, pulling the top off when he gave her a little nod that she could have it. "About what you'd expect. I'm restricted to base, for "my own security"," she rolled her eyes, "while everybody figures out what to do with me."

He pushed his spoon to her. "I see. I apologize for losing my temper with O'Neill. I hope it didn't make your situation worse."

She snorted. "I doubt anything could do that. And you were-- well, it wasn't exactly the best time and place, but he was being difficult on purpose."

"I wouldn't normally fall for it, but I'm all out of patience today," he admitted.

"I can tell," she teased gently. "Are you feeling better? You look better."

He nodded. "We're fine. Except for a certain someone mocking me because I said I could handle it." His resigned tone and long-suffering expression made her chuckle.

"I have that to look forward to, then?" she asked, grinning.

"Years and years of it," he answered, trying to sound disgruntled, but he was smiling with soft affection and she knew he meant it truly, not as sarcastically as he wanted to sound.

"I'd like that, I think," she said, spooning up her yogurt and imagining what life was going to be like in years to come as Turan matured. "Someone that close to me, who understands, and who won't leave me."

He nodded. "Malek and I, we've never been apart since we blended. I think I'd be quite lost on my own, after all these years."

"Luckily, you won't have to be. And now that I have Turan I can stick around for a long time, too," she realized. Selmak's previous host had been over two hundred years old, and the thought of living another hundred years was exciting and frightening all at once. Though that assumed she wouldn't be fatally injured, since, heaven knew, the Tok'ra weren't immortal. "Turan will need Malek to teach her things."

"We'll be there," he promised, and laid his hand over hers, squeezing it.

She nodded. "Good. And in the meantime, we'll be patient as this all shakes out. It'll take time for people to adjust. But they will."

"I hope so," he answered, with considerably less confidence, and she knew they were both thinking about the same person.

But then her father arrived, with Daniel and Teal'c on his heels. Everything felt like it had before the trip to Inannar as they ate dinner.

* * *

Later that evening, she bid goodnight to her father and turned toward her assigned quarters so he'd hear her going the right direction down the hall. But she turned at the cross-corridor and doubled back to the elevators.

On level 16, she caught a few stares from the patrolling SFs, and a tardy "Colonel" from one of them. O'Neill had been right about that, anyway -- everyone knew about Turan already. "As you were," she ordered, and stopped to let them clear themselves from sight.

Then she rapped softly on Asheron's door. After a moment, he opened it just a few inches to peek out. His eyes flared wide on seeing her in the hall. "Sam?" Then he pulled the door wide. "Would you like to come in?"

He was already dressed -- undressed, really -- for sleep, she noticed, and her gaze dropped down his bare chest, remembering what it felt like to touch him.

"I would," she answered, grinning, and moved into the room, making sure to trail a hand across his stomach as she passed. The room was dark except for the bedside table lamp, and the bed sheets were already folded down, like she'd got him up. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," he answered and shut the door. "I was hoping you would come."

"Of course," she answered and caught his hand to pull him into her. She laughed, low and husky. "You have the bigger bed."

She slid one hand up the smooth warmth of his chest to the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss. His hands found a path beneath her shirt and she shivered at the touch on her cool skin, pressing into his mouth.

Then he pulled back. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Here at the SGC? Things might get more... awkward, if people find out."

She shrugged. "Let them," she muttered against his lips. "Right this second, I don't care."

She could feel some hesitation still in him, but her hands caressed it away and a shudder ran through him. His hands tightened for an instant on her skin and then his touch got more certain, and his mouth on hers seemed to pull at her insides, stopping her breath. He pulled off her clothes eagerly, and her hands yanked at his boxer shorts, and somehow tore them in her haste. They fell in the bed, in a tangle of half-discarded clothing. The feel of him, not just inside her, but the touch of his skin under her hands, damp with sweat, was hardly bearable. She threw back her head, and pulled at him, heedlessly, trying to get him closer and release some of the tension burning inside her.

Then, he froze, utterly still, before he yanked himself free of her grip and away. For the first seconds, all she knew was he was gone, and she thought he was teasing. "No, no, please, you can't stop now," she pleaded hoarsely and opened her eyes.

But then passion was abruptly gone, as she got a good look at him, sitting huddled at the end of the bed, turned away from her. He was breathing harshly, trying to catch his breath.

Something was wrong. She sat up, frowning, "Asheron, what -- what is it? Are you okay?" Before he could answer, she realized that there were long marks on his shoulders and back from her nails. "Oh my God," she whispered, staring in dismay. Two of the scores looked like he had been clawed. She'd actually taken a little skin. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he answered, not looking at her, still breathing in unsteady gasps. "Really, it'll heal. I was just -- just surprised."

"I hurt you," she protested. "I didn't realize what I was doing. You were making me feel so good, I sort of forgot where I was." Smiling a little, she touched his leg, thinking to coax him back to continue where they left off.

But he flinched away. "I -- I'm sorry," he said, and scooted off the bed, rooting for his clothes in a sudden hurry. "I need to go. I can't be here, right now. I need to -- to -- walk."

She could only watch as he pulled on his pants, stunned that he was leaving. There was something else going on and she didn't get it. "Asheron, what's wrong?" she asked then bit her lip. "Really, I didn't mean to hurt you -- "

"It's not you," he answered shortly and wouldn't look at her as he put his T-shirt on. There was a trace of disgust in his voice as he continued, "It's me. It's always me. I'll be back when I have my head together again."

And he left.

She watched the door for a moment, and then lay back down, pulling the sheet up absently, and wondering what was going on. Though she was embarrassed by what she'd done -- it had never happened before, that she'd lost **that** much sense of herself -- his reaction had been all out of proportion to some scratches.

No, she realized abruptly, with a shock like cold water, it hadn't been the scratches; it had been the sudden pain during sex. With the memories of Naritania still so strong in his mind, she suspected that pain had kicked open some buried memory of Ishtar doing the same thing or something far worse to him.

If that was true, no wonder Asheron had recoiled so violently. She sat up, deciding she should go after him.

After making sure she looked respectable, she decided to start in the briefing room. He'd gone to the gate when troubled before, as though a part of him always sought escape. Her guess turned out correct this time. Both the briefing room and the general's office were dark, but she spied one of the chairs drawn up close to the observation window.

Sitting in her own chair, she scooted it next to him and for a moment they sat in silence. She decided to be the first to break it with a simple question. "Ishtar?"

It was a little bit of a surprise when Asheron answered instead of Malek in a quiet, distant voice. "It's been such a long time… it shouldn't still affect me like this."

She considered what to say, then offered, "Who's to say what should or shouldn't be? I can't even imagine half of what that bitch did, but I saw what one of her priests was willing to do." She had also heard what that priest had said about what Ishtar had done to 'punish' him, and just the words, "_chains and fire"_ was enough to give her chills. The idea of Asheron begging for mercy was appalling. She wrapped her hand around his forearm, where it rested on the arm of his chair. "I know from what you said that you tried to forget all of it when you left, even dropping your name so you could become someone else. But it's been in your mind the whole time, waiting to go off like a bomb if you opened the door."

He nodded, and slumped in his chair, looking wan. "I know. Thirty years dead and she's still here. I watched her die by my hand, but it wasn't enough."

She slid her hand over his, and squeezed. "I'm no expert, but you're wrong if you think you're alone. You have Malek, you have me, you have Selmak and Dad, and Daniel and Teal'c are your friends."

"Not O'Neill?" he asked, lifting his brows with a touch of dry amusement in his voice.

She made a face, "Let's not get carried away."

His lips quirked in a reluctant smile and he darted a glance her way. "You're remarkably generous with someone who left you in the middle."

"Well, as long as you come back to bed, I'll let it go," she teased. When he looked away again, expression darkening, she felt like kicking herself for phrasing it so badly. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "Just to sleep," she added. "That's all I want right now. To sleep with you beside me, okay?"

He turned his hand over and clasped hers, but kept his gaze down. "Yes. I'm sorry, I don't think I can offer more tonight."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for," she said and stood up, drawing him after. "And there's nothing else I want."

She wasn't surprised when he left most of his clothes on before crawling into bed, but she said nothing, just followed his lead and kept her T-shirt on. She cuddled next to him, relieved when he held her hand on his chest. He looked up at the ceiling, in silence, his thoughts either with Malek or somewhere else she couldn't follow.

Tracing his bold profile with her gaze, she felt amazingly lucky that he had given her the key to the walls he'd hidden behind for so long and let her in. She wondered how he'd managed to survive, if not in one piece, at least mostly intact from two years of Ishtar's torture and rape and enslavement. How had he been able to touch Sam, not to mention make love to her, after all he'd endured at Ishtar's hands and in her bed?

But he did and he had, somehow, and Sam was glad.

* * *

Sam endured a day full of experiments - having electrodes attached to the back of her neck to measure Turan's EEG, running on the treadmill, weight-lifting, blood tests -- until she was exhausted. But still, she felt good. She **was **stronger with more endurance.

Her dad and Malek watched her, both beaming with pride. Jacob suggested she check out the ribbon device from the armory and see if she could use it better. She was about to agree, curious to find out what it was like with an actual symbiote. But Malek suddenly left for the men's room and she and Jacob exchanged a glance, realizing his haste to leave had nothing to do with the bathroom, and everything to do with the past.

The small break room near her lab was empty, so the sound of the door shutting behind him was loud. "Maybe another time," she said. "It wasn't an easy mission for him to be back there."

He didn't speak for a moment. "Sam..." Jacob started hesitantly.

He looked everywhere but her, and she thought, '_Here we go_.'

"Not that I want to interfere, because you're a grown woman now, and it's not my place to tell you what to do. But I think I should ask you -- "

She took pity on him. "We're seeing each other, yes. In that way," she confirmed and then she smiled. "It started before we left. I didn't intend it, but it seems to be working out. I like him." Then her smile faded, when his expression didn't change. "What? You don't?"

"I do," Jacob answered. "He's been a good friend to me and Selmak. And if you two were just friends I wouldn't be worried. It's ... I don't know if you know what you're getting into, Sam. Not with Malek so much, but Asheron."

She perched on the edge of the small table and frowned at him over the rim of her Diet Coke . "What do you mean?"

Jacob lowered his eyes and Selmak spoke instead, "When he first came to us, he gained Garshaw's approval to lie about his origins and never said his name. For the first five years among us, he was so consumed with revenge, he manipulated the council into a highly aggressive policy against the Goa'uld, taking advantage of Ishtar's fall and the fighting among Cronus, Baal, and Hadad for her territory."

While she was surprised by the idea of a "highly aggressive policy", since that hadn't seemed to have been a Tok'ra plan until the poison, that wasn't the part she had trouble with. "Manipulated the council?" she repeated incredulously. The council had been full of manipulative arrogant dicks like Delek and Thoran, and Malek and Asheron had manipulated **them**?

But Selmak nodded. "Yes. He took Malek's knowledge of us and used it to push us toward his intent of creating all-out war among the Goa'uld. He cared very little for the collateral damage of such a war, Samantha-- not the humans, the Jaffa, or even the Tok'ra that would fall. And he did it while suffering terrible nightmares of his captivity. To cope, he became very closed off and contained. He refused intimacy with anyone, with rare exception, over more than twenty years. I'm not sure he's emotionally prepared for a relationship."

Sam shifted, uncomfortable on the hard table top, wishing she wasn't discussing Asheron like this behind his back. It felt wrong and mean, when he wasn't here to defend himself. "I... look, Selmak, I appreciate that you and Dad care, but this isn't a surprise. He's told me a lot, and I know it's hard for him." She thought about last night's freak out and smiled wryly. "But it's not his fault that bitch screwed him over. And I refuse to let her win, when she's been dead for thirty years."

Selmak smiled. "All right, good for you. He needs someone to pull him out of his shell, and you're strong enough to do it. No wonder he loves you."

She blinked, surprised. Selmak's smile widened with mirth, and for a moment there was more than a hint of kindly, mischievous old Saroosh in her father's face. "Oh yes. Even if he likes to pretend he's a closed book."

Selmak dropped his eyes and her father was back, raising his eyebrows. "I have no idea where that came from," he admitted and reached over to squeeze Sam's shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"Thanks, Dad." She hugged him, glad that above everything else, the Tok'ra had given her father back to her.

* * *

Asheron watched Jacob enter the commissary and purposefully direct toward him. Selmak's host had a determined look on his face and Asheron was a little amused. *_I can guess what this is about.*_

Malek agreed and withdrew to let Asheron handle it.

"Jacob. Selmak," Asheron greeted. "Join me."

Jacob settled into the opposite chair. "So." He hesitated. "What are you doing with those?" he pointed to the mission files stacked up on the table.

Asheron shrugged. "Just reading them for now. Trying to get a grasp on what the Tau'ri have done. Making a few notes on possible follow up missions." He grimaced. "Things O'Neill will doubtless ignore. What about you? What brings you to my tea party this afternoon?"

Jacob looked so uncomfortable Asheron almost laughed. He was surprised that Selmak didn't take over for him, in fact.

But Jacob eventually got to it. "I wanted to talk to you. Sam told me you two are... together."

Asheron raised his eyebrows. "So you're here to warn me off?"

Jacob glanced away, unable to hold his gaze. "Not like that," he protested. "But I -- Selmak and I -- we just wanted to make sure you're... ready." He lowered his voice to no one else could hear. "Selmak remembers how troubled you were. And while I'm glad you're finally seeing someone, I can't help but be concerned."

Be concerned that his daughter was making a horrible mistake. Asheron's insides stiffened up in offense and he couldn't meet Jacob's gaze, fingers tightening on his pen before he laid it on the table.

"You're being candid with me, and I appreciate that," he made himself say in a neutral tone.

Jacob eyed him and snorted. "Ah, that would be the king of Naritania talking, right? Now I know where it comes from."

A twitch of amusement let him release some of his anger and he felt his lips smile just a trifle. "I need to stop being around people who know me so well."

"Should've thought of that before you blended, hm?" Jacob teased.

"Not much choice in that," Asheron muttered, remembering dying in the fallen ha'tak and an offer of vengeance that he couldn't refuse. He leaned forward. "Look, Jacob, I'll be candid back and answer: I don't know. Before we went back to Inannar, I would've said 'yes, I'm ready'. Now...I'm not as sure." He looked into his tea cup and finished, softly, "The claws go deeper than I ever thought. So I can't promise you everything will go well. But at least Sam knows the truth."

She knew some of it, Asheron amended to himself more honestly. She was never going to know everything.

His skin crawled and he fought against a shudder, as memory rose up from some dark hole in his mind:

*_Please your goddess,* she whispers and her hand grips his chin, forcing him to look into her face. The sharp finger-tips of the ribbon device on her other hand trail lightly down his front, hardly leaving a mark on his skin, lingering and slow enough that his belly tenses with dread. Her eyes glint with cruel delight, watching his face, as her hand slips beneath the kilt. The metal is cold and he flinches, before he gets control of himself and tries to hold absolutely still and show her no more weakness. She licks her lips at his twitch, and moves her hand. At first the touch is gentle, but the caress makes his heart pound, knowing it for the threat it is. --_

Malek yanked him into the present and pushed the memory away with a soothing mental touch. *_Enough. Don't linger there, beloved. There is no need to endure all that again.*_

He blinked, relieved that it was gone. But he still felt cold and it took a moment of conscious effort to keep his breathing even, when his chest felt tight.

Jacob didn't appear to notice his moment's distraction and nodded, his expression more sympathetic. "All right. Fair enough. And all I can ask is you do your best."

* * *

Sam knocked on O'Neill's door once and he glanced up, and waved her in. "Carter, what can I do you for?"

She went closer and stood at ease before his desk. "Sir, I noticed SG-1 isn't on the schedule for any upcoming missions, and I wanted to ask when we're going out."

He suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable and started playing with his pen. She got a bad, twisted feeling in her gut. "Well, that's not decided yet."

"Why not?" she asked, knowing perfectly well why but wanting to force the issue. "I'm fit. Fitter than I've ever been, actually. Daniel and Teal'c are itching to go. If you'd like us to have a fourth, you know Malek is bored out of his mind, and he'd be welcome on my team. We'd like to go."

O'Neill spread his hands. "I'm sure, but right now, things are a little... difficult. There's been some rumbling, not by me or Hammond, mind you, but Davis has told us that there are some in the Pentagon and NID pushing for you to lose your commission."

She stared at him, blind-sided by the attack. "What? Because of Turan?"

He rolled his eyes and looked aggravated. "What do you think, Carter? Of course, because of that."

"But why?" she persisted. "Turan's not even grown yet. She doesn't talk to me, she doesn't share memories, nothing. Except for the physical effects and healing, which are great for the field, by the way, I am **exactly** the same as I was before."

"But they don't believe that. Either way, you've been compromised by an alien entity that you can't or won't get rid of."

After a moment to think about it, wondering exactly how much was 'they' and how much was actually 'him', she folded her arms and asked, "And are you fighting this? Or should I just take retirement now?"

"Don't be ridiculous. But come on, they have a point, don't they? You chose to be one of them."

"One of them?" she repeated and shook her head, feeling the anger building inside. "No, I'm not one of "them". I'm me. And I can't believe eight years of friendship and being on the same team doesn't mean anything," she accused bitterly. "Is that why Bill looked so uncomfortable when he told me there was no new tech to look at? Am I now barred from that, too? You don't trust me anymore."

"It's not that I don't trust you, Carter," he protested, but it sounded pretty hollow to her ears. "This is just temporary while we all work out what's going to happen."

She realized that 'working out what was going to happen' did not necessarily mean SG-1 again. Or her work again. Or her job. "I see."

"Oh, don't look like that," he said, wincing, and emphasized, "_Temporary_. Really."

"I hope so," she said. "I want my work back."

"I'll do what I can," O'Neill promised, and she left, figuring she'd better get out before she said something she'd regret.

* * *

She slammed the door behind her, not giving a damn who knew she'd gone into Malek's quarters, and Asheron looked up from the bed where he was watching the television. "No SG-1. No science. Maybe even forced out," she told him, biting off each word. "He said he's going to 'try'. Right. As if it's not his recommendation that matters most."

"O'Neill?" Asheron asked.

"Of course."

"Lucky guess," he said dryly. She snorted a laugh that made her feel a bit better. She glanced at the TV. as she plopped down on the bed, to see he was watching CNN. Her lip curled at the sight of Kinsey, and she was glad the sound was muted.

Then he asked, "I guess this isn't a good time to ask if I could see the surface?"

She glanced at him to see he was looking at her, serious, but for the faint twitch in his lips that gave away the tease. She leaned over and whacked him on the leg. "If I don't get to see the outside, neither do you."

He leaned back on the pillows. "Good thing Tok'ra are used to living underground."

"Well, I'm not," she grumped, and he reached for her hand, pulling her over on top of him.

"Tok'ra are also stealthy," he murmured in her ear, while his hands moved up her back. "We could plan an escape."

She laughed and bent her head to kiss his lips. "I think I'd rather stay here..." Shifting so she straddled his waist, she leaned down to keep her mouth on his.

Then he held her back for a moment to look up in her eyes. "Malek wants to feel for a little while, if you don't mind?"

At first the question struck her as odd, but then she shrugged, determined to get over it.

She was Tok'ra, now, and she knew perfectly well she had to accept both Malek and Asheron. "Of course," she answered with a smile, and her fingers continued their slow easy slide down his flanks to search for the hem of his t-shirt. "I'd like that."

He shut his eyes. It was only because she was so close to him that she noticed the slight tension rippling through him at the change from host to symbiote, but she could tell by his expression that Malek was in control now.

She smiled in greeting. "Hello, Malek."

"Samantha," he said. The word was formal, but his touch on her waist was not, especially when his hands boldly cupped her breasts and he smirked, ever so slightly.

They shared the same body and she'd already learned a lot of the things he liked. Malek knew what she liked, as well, of course. And yet, everything felt that little tiny bit different. He was less sensitive to her body's cues, and she found herself giving him more direction than Asheron needed.

But it was still really good, and lying next to him after they'd cleaned up, she caught her breath and her fingers idly traced circles on his chest.

She thought about putting her clothes back on, in case there was an emergency, but didn't move. If O'Neill wanted her to stir for anything less than a planetary invasion, he could damn well start treating her like a trusted member of the team again.

_tbc..._


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE: **This part is somewhat ... intense, even though I've hacked it down from the original. The sensitive should probably skip the flashback (the long part in italics).

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_*Are you certain this is wise?*_ Malek asked, as Asheron entered O'Neill's office and shut the door behind him.

*_Probably not, but if something doesn't change I'm going to do something much more rude.*_

O'Neill glanced up and couldn't hide his grimace at who had come in to see him. He held up one finger to have Asheron wait as he finished his phone call.

Asheron sat down in the chair across from him, uninvited. O'Neill didn't seem to be in a hurry to get rid of whoever he was talking to, but Asheron waited, giving O'Neill a bland look when he glanced his way, not showing impatience. From what he could overhear of O'Neill's end of the conversation there seemed to be a supply problem.

Finally O'Neill hung up. "So. What can I do for you?"

Asheron glanced at the phone and lifted his brows. "A little overwhelming, is it?"

O'Neill stiffened, taking offense even though Asheron hadn't meant it that way. "No, not really. But I am busy --"

Asheron ignored the implicit dismissal, and took it as a request to hurry up. "I would offer my help, since I have experience with this sort of bureaucratic tangle, but I'm sure you'd just throw it back in my face, like you have every other offer of help I've made." He kept his tone level and calm, and was satisfied to see the surprise on O'Neill's face.

He leaned forward a little and looked him in the face. "You don't like me. That's all right; I don't particularly like you either, and I don't care what you think of me. But I do care what you think about Sam. And you've been treating her as though she carries some transmissible disease. That stops now. You're going to let Sam have her work back, and let her back on SG-1 to continue exploring through the Stargate where she belongs."

O'Neill listened to him. "Or?" He glared at Asheron, his hand tapping the pen on his desk. "That sounds an awful lot like a threat."

Asheron leaned back and let himself smile a little. "I have nothing to threaten you with." He paused and then added, "Just... our leaving."

For a heartbeat O'Neill froze, and then he snorted in skeptical disbelief. "Carter would never leave here. Earth. No way."

"You think so?" Asheron asked curiously. "I don't. Not if you continue treating us like your enemies." In a softer voice, he warned, "I'm not your enemy, O'Neill. But you've always thought the worst of the Tok'ra, and I'm not going to wait around while you take your time deciding that we're _**acceptable**_." He stood up, having said what he came to say.

"Are you? I give you asylum and this is what I get back?" O'Neill snapped. "There's gratitude for you."

"You expect gratitude that you've locked us in this cage? And Sam is barred from her work for no reason except your fear of us? We both want to help." He spread his arms out at his sides, more earnest than cold now. "I've been a Tok'ra for thirty years, I ruled a country before that, and Malek is two thousand years old. We've been around, O'Neill. We can help you. But you stubbornly won't let us."

O'Neill looked at the surface of his desk, seeming thoughtful, and Asheron began to have the first stirrings of hope that finally O'Neill was trying to get it. "It's not all up to me."

"But some of it is. Give Sam her science, at least. Her brain needs that."

"It is kind of a big brain, isn't it?" O'Neill agreed with a half-grin.

"She's special," Asheron agreed. "And now, with Turan, she could live a long time, as beautiful and intelligent in a hundred years as she is today. Isn't that worth something?"

"Yeah, it is." O'Neill agreed, and told the top of his desk in a mutter. "I didn't want her to be something different."

Asheron held his tongue and didn't tell him that that expecting stasis in a chaotic universe was utterly futile. He left before he fell into another argument.

*_Nicely done,* _Malek said, as they went down the corridor. "_Now we will find out if he actually heard anything you said. *_

* * *

Sam showed Asheron the internet from the unsecure computer in her lab, and was amused by how much he seemed to enjoy looking through photos of places around the world and getting her explanation for them.

"It's such a big planet," he observed, after paging through cities of the world and giant skyscrapers. He paused at the image of Tokyo at night. "Very few planets have such a population. I think the Goa'uld have never really understood how many people live here, and how impossible it would be to conquer it all. To destroy it, yes, but not to conquer and hold."

"I've wondered that, too. Though I guess Anubis' plan was to destroy enough to make the rest of it manageable."

He snorted and shook his head. "Six billion people used to fighting each other? I can't even imagine trying to impose rule on that. Ra was smart enough to leave it alone, and that was when the population was much smaller."

"The Goa'uld have never struck me as all that smart," she pointed out.

"Sam!" A voice interrupted, and she turned to see Bill coming in with an unfamiliar tall, cylindrical metallic object in both hands. Asheron jumped up to take it from him, as it swayed dangerously close to hitting the door frame.

"What's that?" she asked curiously, watching as Asheron set it carefully on the table.

"We were hoping you two could tell us," he answered. "It's obviously Ancient, as you can see from the writing. SG-11 brought it back from 3PX827."

She hesitated, wanting to go closer to look, but wary. "Bill. You got clearance to give it to me, right?"

He made a face and waved a hand. "Sure. General O'Neill said it was okay this morning. And since this one won't even turn on, I figured you'd like it." He looked very proud of himself, and she was hit by the urge to give him a hug.

Which she didn't, but she did smile at him. "Thanks, Bill. I'd love to take a crack at it."

"Figured you would. And, Sam?" When he stopped, she nodded at him to go on, when he hesitated with the awkwardness of whatever he couldn't say. He glanced at Malek then at her and nodded to himself. "The department thinks they were being stupid. We deal with aliens and alien technology every day, and treating you like you're some kind of foothold imposter is just wrong and dumb. So you've got our support," he said staunchly.

Touched, her smile widened. "Thank you. Tell the others it means a lot to me."

A moment of silence fell, and then Bill sort of shrugged as if prodding himself awake and took his leave. "Gotta get back to work. Have fun."

She went to join Asheron at the table, where he was looking at the device. "Well, it's about time. We'll have something to celebrate later." She nudged him with a hip then snickered. "You know what this looks like?"

He was going to answer something serious, caught her expression, and turned back to the device to look again. His eyes widened as he realized what she was suggesting.

"I don't think I _**want**_to turn on an alien device that large," she added dryly, and he chuckled.

Because staring them both in the face was a nearly three foot tall, rod-like device that looked way too much like an oversized vibrator.

"I may never be able to touch it with a straight face," Sam said, her snickers threatening to break into laughter.

"I don't know," he said, looking at it, now more seriously. "It's very ... suggestive, don't you think?" Hidden from anyone who might pass by in the hall by the table, his hand slid down her thigh.

"Later," she told him, but grinning. "We should work."

He let out a soft sigh of disappointment but pulled his hand back.

Considerably later, after discovering that turning on the device didn't, in fact, turn everyone on base into a raging sex fiend after all, she found Asheron still interested in doing his best to make it seem like it had.

But it wasn't for himself, but for her, touching her with those fingers that seemed to know exactly what to do, even before she knew it herself, and those lips on their languorous journey from her lips, across her breasts, down her stomach, and finally between her splayed thighs.

He teased her with his tongue and sucked on her with eager intensity that she'd never had from any lover before.

"God, you are so amazing," she said, still too boneless to even turn and kiss him as he joined her on his back.

"That was for the other day," he murmured.

"Well, it was great," she told him, meaning every word. Then she rolled over, toward him, grinning. "Your turn."

"I don't need - " he protested, rather weakly to her ears.

"Well, I need to," she answered, with a teasing grin, and ran a slow and naughty hand all the way down his front.

He wasn't looking at her, but up at the ceiling, and she could see the muscle in his jaw work as he clenched his teeth. He shuddered, and she had the impression it wasn't in pleasure. He reached down, grabbed her hand and took it away from him. "Stop. Please."

"Asheron? What's wrong?" she asked softly. She felt a reflexive twinge of fear that she had done something, but she knew it wasn't her.

He shook his head once mutely, the lie in every tense muscle of his body. "I'm sorry -- " he started.

"Would you stop apologizing?" she demanded, in only half-pretended exasperation. She took a breath and said in a gentler voice, "You don't have to pretend everything's okay, when I know perfectly well it's not." She bit her lip, suddenly realizing what this night had been really all about. "You don't **owe **me, for the other night. I'm not keeping score. Look, if there's times you don't want to make love, you know it's okay, right? There'll be times I'm not interested, too, I promise."

"It's not that I'm not interested. I am," he murmured. He rolled upright, bare back curved away from her. His voice came from far away, muffled by his hands. "But not today. I need a little time, Sam. I'm --" He stopped abruptly and she smiled briefly, as she realized he was about to apologize again. He took a breath and straightened. "Our trip raised some memories I'd really rather not have back."

"Of course. I understand," she reassured him. She knelt up and reached out to touch him, but her hand hovered above his skin, uncertain if she should. The light hit his back, and with the sheen of sweat, she could see his skin seemed eerily perfect, except for one long white scar halfway down on the right side that curled around his lower ribs. It was the immaculate skin of a sarcophagus, which erased all outward signs of torment, while ingraining those same pains on the inside. She lowered her hand. "Please, don't think I blame you or I want anything from you that you're not ready to give, Asheron. I'm not in a hurry."

He turned and kissed her on the lips. "Thank you." But afterward, he left the bed and started gathering his clothes.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he dressed.

"Someplace my restlessness won't keep you awake," he said. "Try to get some sleep, Sam. Don't worry about me."

She didn't tell him that not worrying about him was just about impossible. He was in pain, and she wanted to help him. But he wasn't ready for her help, it seemed.

"All right. Take your time," she said. "I'll wait."

His gaze met hers, hearing her meaning of more than just tonight. "You're more than I deserve, Sam," he murmured. "Please don't wait up."

He slipped from the room and eased the door closed behind him.

His face had seemed calm, but she had seen how well he could control that and was not reassured. He was more troubled than he was letting on. She was going to have to find a moment to talk to Malek when Asheron was asleep and find out the truth.

* * *

_*You should tell her,*_ Malek advised while Asheron walked aimlessly down the corridor, away.

Asheron couldn't imagine that. *_Tell her what? That her touch reminds me of Ishtar? That every time I make love to her, __**she's**__ there too?*_

He flinched from the memory, of a jealous purr in his ears. '..._remember, my pet, You are mine...' _

Stumbling, he ran into the corridor wall and stayed there, leaning against it.

His own weakness and uncontrollable memories were suddenly more than he could handle. *_Take it away,*_ he abruptly asked. *_Just make it stop, Malek.*_

Malek reminded him gently, *_I can't pick and choose, you know that. I can block all of it, from Arvalle's death to our blending, if that's really what you want. But I don't think you do.*_

*_Yes, yes, I do,*_ he protested.

*_You would lose your memories of how you fought her.*_

His memories disproved the idea that he had fought her: screaming, begging, kneeling with his head bent to the tile floor in abject servitude, and worse, pleasuring her with his head between her legs or forcing himself to arousal when she wanted him inside her.

His gorge rose and he gagged. Coughing, trying not to vomit, he dug his fingernails into the cement, wishing it was her flesh he could rip off her bones. Or his own. *_How can you say I fought her? That's the definition of broken, not fighting."_

Malek's reply was quick and sharp, *_No. Obedience in the face of intolerable pain and punishment is not surrender, Asheron. You never surrendered to her. You resisted, in spite of what she put you through, and you won in the end.*_

_*I don't want this back. I want it all gone.*_

Malek tried to soothe him, sending his love and reassurance._ *Remember, there was more than suffering. There was the rebellion -- you did fight her." _

Asheron didn't have to verbalize an answer that one, since the rebellion had worked out so horribly -- for Naritania and him personally. Remembering it was one of the last things he wanted. Malek hesitated, and Asheron felt Malek's reluctance just before he said, *_And there were times of... refuge.*_

Refuge? At first Asheron had no idea what he was talking about. There had been no refuge, no place he was safe, only short respites before it all started again.

Then like another door opening, the images were there, and he knew. Dark eyes, not Ishtar's, lit with desire, not cruelty. Nights wrapped in softness and strong arms. Skillful fingers on his skin, offering pleasure not pain. The echo of want ran through his body like an electrical current.

He'd never surrendered to Ishtar, no, but he had surrendered. He'd given in, over and over again, unable to resist feeling human. It had been weakness, but of a different sort. And he had done his best to leave that behind, too.

Nonetheless Malek was right to remind him that he'd had a place, however short each stay had been, to recover and remember himself. Asheron lifted his head and opened his eyes, feeling more capable again. He managed to tease Malek, knowing what the reminder had cost his symbiote, *_I can't believe _**you**_ brought those forward again.*_

Malek returned, *_Not that I wished to, but you needed to recall there was more than Ishtar's torture during those years. I understand it's difficult to face these memories again, beloved, but you are strong. They are the past, and you can face them and let them pass away.*_

_*I hope so,*_ he murmured.

*_I am always with you. Now come, you intended to go to the gym and work out some anger in physical activity.*_

_*I did?*_ Asheron asked, a bit amused, since he hadn't intended any such thing, at least not consciously.

*_You did,*_ Malek answered firmly.

In the deserted gym, Asheron turned on the lights and looked around. There were various machines, some for lifting weights and some for stationary running or climbing. The other half of the room was empty with thin carpet, and two large cylindrical cushions suspended from the ceiling.

But it was the equipment at the side that attracted his attention -- various sticks and staffs.

*_Teal'c told me that he teaches Jaffa staff fighting. I thought there might be a staff you could use to practice -- what was it called? Tel'arshek?*_

"Tela'sharin," Asheron corrected absently as he examined the few choices of practice staff for length. "It's been a long time," he muttered dubiously, but took out the one most like the staff he remembered using in the military academy.

*_I will help.*_

Asheron knew perfectly well that Malek was doing this to remind him of something _good_ in his memory that had come from Naritania. But he moved with his staff to the center of the floor and tried to remember how to start.

With Malek's help dredging up lessons from a lifetime ago, he was soon able to settle into the first few patterns - blocks and attacks, lunges and sweeps.

But it wasn't satisfying to hit only air. He went to the dummy and practiced his strikes: step, hit, back, turn, lunge, sweep. At first, he kept his breathing slow and calm, in the formal pattern of training.

But as he tired, his control started to slip. His grip tightened on the staff, and his hits fell harder and faster.

If only she was here, so he could kill her again. And her Jaffa who had helped her. And all the rest of her priests and her Goa'uld servants who had stood by and done nothing.

And his people for being cowed and frightened and not fighting back.

And his family for dying and leaving him alone.

But most of all himself for being weak and afraid of things long gone.

Again and again, he hit the bag, losing all sense of grace and control, until it was nothing but pure blind rage.

Exhaustion finally brought him back to himself. He let the staff drop to the floor, panting, with his heart pounding and sweat running down his face. His arm muscles and back burned with the strain, and his hands were cramping from holding on so tightly.

He was horrified to see the rips and holes he had beaten into the bag. He had never lost his temper like that.

*_Better a cushioned dummy opponent than a real person,*_ Malek observed, returning to Asheron's awareness. *_Or yourself.*_

_*I wouldn't -- *_ Asheron protested, surprised by the idea.

*_Beloved, you already turn your anger inward,*_ Malek interrupted. *_Lacking any other target, you are angry at yourself. But you have no fault. You were her victim. She hurt you terribly and forced you to do things you would never have done of your own will. You had no choice. None. Not even to die.*_

Asheron flinched, the brightness of the sarcophagus flashing before his eyes, and he was suddenly cold.

Malek continued, *_If death was not an escape, how could you have done anything but what she wanted? Or when you were in a place free from her torments, how could you refuse it? You must forgive yourself, Asheron. And forgive me too, for was I not one of those who stood by and did nothing? Worse, I helped you push it away and pretend nothing happened, when I should have encouraged you to deal with it then."_

_*I don't think I could have, Malek.* _He stared blankly at the wall, not remembering anything in particular, only a constant sense of rage and fear. He'd done a lot of stupid things those first few years as a Tok'ra. *_And there's nothing to forgive. You helped me. You were my friend. You kept me _**sane**. _I've never blamed you_.*

*_Then do not blame yourself either. You could do even less than I could. And in the end, you killed her. You won.*_

He remembered killing her and how it had felt nothing like winning. More like madness.

* * *

_Not after everything. Not __**her**__. Bad enough that he ached for release when he was with one of her servants. But not her. Not when she amused herself by making him suffer, and not when she'd butchered his people solely to punish him for trying to resist her._

_Asheron would never want her. But she was breaking him down, slowly but surely. If he gave into this, soon there would be nothing left but a creature who lived and died to serve her. _

_Anger made his thrusts rougher and deeper, and his hands curled into fists at the irresistible tightening deep in his belly._

_"Oh yes, my king," she panted, "Harder, yes, harder or I will skin you alive."_

_His heart lurched at the threat. She might do it, if he failed to please her. Reflexive terror welled up and joined with the hot rage knotting his chest that pleasing her mattered at all. He could barely find air to breathe and sweat trickled down his face and pooled between his shoulder blades._

_But he obeyed. Again and again. He gasped, as the feeling jolted through his nerves, and he nearly spent himself in her. But loathing followed on its heels: loathing for how she took from him, and more loathing for himself for doing her bidding and finding any pleasure in it. He was so close to the edge, but he wasn't consumed. _

_His mind was suddenly, strangely clear, detached from the seething electricity in his body. She was distracted by her orgasm. He'd get no better chance. One of his fists opened and he reached above the bed, fumbling along the headboard until his fingers found the blade._

_So many times he had dreamed of this. So many times in the past two years he had clutched the idea of this to him, caressed it in the dark when he was alone. Sometimes only the thought of someday killing her had held him together, when the bright light of the sarcophagus had shattered him again._

_The cold metal murmured to him, as he wrapped his hand around the hilt. Now. Now it would end. No more fear. No more pain. _

_Her eyes were closed and her head was back, exulting in the orgasm he'd given her, when he brought the knife down. It pierced the skin of her throat so easily, sliding deeper, until it hit the bone of her neck with such force it jarred his hand._

_Her eyes and mouth opened, and her body heaved trying to get him off, but he was stronger. Finally, he was stronger. She clawed at him, but he ignored her panicked flailing, smiling as her struggles faded in strength. His lower body pinned her to the bed, and the fury and pain in her eyes warmed him._

_He pulled the knife out, and blood fountained up, spattering his face and covering his hands. He ignored it, to lean forward close to her face, staring into her eyes._

_"You're not a goddess," he whispered, staring at her and trembling with the force of his hatred. "And you're going to die here. How does it feel?" he demanded, drawing the bloody edge of the knife down her cheek. "To know you're going to die under your slave's hand?"_

_Her eyes flashed with Goa'uld light. She might have screamed except she couldn't make any sound but gurgling. He heard her silky voice anyway, "I will whip you to the bone and lock you in a sarcophagus with scarabs to eat your flesh until you beg for my forgiveness --"_

_"NO MORE!" He slammed the knife into her throat again, to silence her._

_She was still aware, still alive, with those dark eyes still alight with malice. He hadn't done enough. He left the blade in her neck, bracing himself again on his arms._

_She would know that he was taking her, as she had done to him. It was heady, to be above her, and she couldn't resist, couldn't speak. The last thing she would know was that he had killed her and taken his own pleasure on her. It was nearly unbearable, all the emotions tangling inside him, and he used her, seeking relief, but he kept his eyes open to watch her die.  
_

_His arms were shaking and threatened to collapse, and his panting breaths were loud in the sudden silence. He looked down at her face beneath him. She was dead. Ishtar was dead. Her head was nearly cut off, throat slashed to the bone. Blood had soaked into the pillow and sheets around her, and the smell was suddenly overwhelming. He realized he hadn't pulled out from her, and his stomach roiled in revulsion._

_He yanked himself away from her, nearly falling off the bed in his haste. He scrambled off and stood on the cold floor, staring at her. _

_He was shaking -- he wanted to put the knife in her again, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for mercy, he wanted to curl up on the floor and succumb to the death that had eluded him for two years. But he couldn't do anything. His head felt stuffed with wool, and he couldn't think. He kept looking at the bloody handprints he'd left on the sheets. _

_She was dead. Finally she was dead. He was avenged. His people were avenged. But he knew better than anyone that death could be only an impermanent solution. He couldn't let her rise again. He had to make sure._

_He reached over and pulled the knife out. It was good enough to pry open the control panel of the sarcophagus and he used the hilt to smash all the crystals inside._

_Now Ishtar was dead. And so was he. He would never survive this. But before he finally died and stayed dead, he would destroy this ship and everyone on it._

_He remembered to put some clothes on and left Ishtar's chamber, knife in hand. The first Jaffa died quickly, surprised. The second died slower, because he remembered this one and his skill with the whip and chain. When he was done, proving how well Ishtar and her minions had taught him, another of the lotars came around the corner. _

_The young man's eyes widened. "My lord?" he asked, his voice hoarse and tentative as if he wasn't sure who he was looking at. Not that Asheron could blame him -- the king hadn't been around in a long time._

_"We're going to take control of this ship, Kervan. Ishtar is dead." His voice seemed not to belong to him. "And I'm taking back my planet. Follow me."_

_He gathered up other slaves on the way to the command deck. A few died attacking the Jaffa, but more joined, gathering up the weapons as they went, until there was a group of eight slaves following him into the pel'tak. Asheron held only his knife but it was enough. Ishtar's First Prime tried to fight him, but he barely noticed the blows. This pain was nothing. Nothing like what this one had given him at Ishtar's bidding. Nothing like what he'd endured before this Jaffa had ordered him dragged to the sarcophagus._

_The First Prime couldn't say the same as Asheron cut him. He felt only the faintest satisfaction at the Jaffa's shock and dismay as Asheron told him, "Ishtar's dead. This ship is mine. And all of you are going to pay for what you've done to my people."_

_When the First Prime died, the creature in his belly slithered out. Asheron was moving before he had to think of it, stabbing it behind the head. _

_He still had it on his blade when he turned his head, "Blockade the door. No one gets in," he ordered Kervan and the others. They blanched and couldn't meet his gaze. Asheron thought the Goa'uld larva was a lot less disgusting dead, than alive, so why they should quail back from it he didn't know._

_He flung the creature into the corner and was irritated to find that his shirt was so wet with blood that he could hardly find a dry spot to wipe his blade. He put the knife in the waistband of his pants, before turning to the helm console. He'd been in this room often enough, kneeling beside the throne, to know how to set a course. It was easy enough. The ship dropped like a rock toward the fields west of the capital, and he heard several people fall with the violent lurch. He held on to the console and didn't move._

_There was a battle behind him as the other Jaffa tried to get in. But he didn't turn to see. He would stay there until they dragged his corpse away. And by then it would be too late. _

_The screen lit up and turned white as they entered atmosphere. Moment later the surface appeared and he watched it get closer, the white of the clouds parting for the brown and green of the land and blue water of the sea._

_The few people left in Naritania would see the ship plummeting out of control. They'd see the crash. And they'd know they were free. It was all he had to give them. That and his life, cheap as it was._

_He knew there was nothing after death. But he couldn't help a wistful thought of seeing Jisa and Arvalle again. But Arvalle would turn away, disgusted by all he'd done and what he'd become. So maybe it was for the best there was no afterlife._

_The ground was coming up so fast. He clutched the console and inhaled a long deliberate breath to hold back a sudden desire to stop the ship's fall. _

_The proximity alarm went off and he closed his eyes, waiting for the end._

* * *

Sam awoke at the strange sound nearby. As awareness shot through her, she realized it was soft gasping and opened her eyes. Going up on her elbows, she looked down at Asheron's face. In the light of the emergency exit sign, his face seemed crumpled with pain and fear. He was curled up, and his hands were fisted so tightly the tendons stood out in his wrists.

His lips parted to let out another of the breathy gasps, and she realized with horror that he was probably screaming in whatever nightmare held him in its grip.

How could Malek let this happen? Shouldn't he be able to stop nightmares?

She shook his shoulder once. "Malek? Wake up. Make it stop."

A shudder went through him, and Asheron fell silent. Then he drew in more even breaths and his hands opened.

"Are you awake?" she whispered.

He turned toward her in the bed and propped his head up on his hand. "I am now, Samantha," he murmured with the symbiote voice. "Thank you."

"How can he have nightmares with you around?" she asked, in confusion. "Can't you stop them?"

"I can, if I'm awake myself," he answered. "But in places of safety we rest at the same time. We share in his subconscious. The past few days that has been more difficult than usual." His gaze slid sideways, blanking, and returned to her. "He's sleeping deeply now."

"Good. I wanted to talk to you, without him hearing us."

"You realize he will know we speak now." She nodded, and he waited for her to explain, though he had to know what she wanted to say.

"He seems... very troubled," she began slowly. "Is he all right?"

Malek hesitated before answering, "Yes, he is well. As he said, returning to Naritania reminded him of things which we had both hoped had been forgotten. He is struggling somewhat with putting them back in their proper context."

Which was all what Sam expected. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He gave a brief smile. "Continue as you have. Perhaps between us we can prevent him from brooding to excess. Something more productive to do would be helpful, too."

"You're helping in the lab... That's about all I can do," she admitted unwillingly.

"I appreciate that, but I am afraid Asheron has little interest in science. Planning, logistics, and intelligence analysis are more his areas of skill."

She snorted a laugh. "Well, I don't think we should hold our breath for General O'Neill asking his help on anything like that. He barely lets Dad in on anything, and he's sure as hell not going to ask Asheron for advice."

"Well, more fool him then." Then he quirked a small smile of amusement and at her curious look, he asked, "If they didn't annoy each other so much, they might be friends."

She chuckled and shook her head at him. "In some parallel reality, not this one."

"Perhaps not." He coaxed her down to curl next to him again. "Sleep. Don't worry about us - we have been through this before. They are ghosts, nothing more."

She wasn't sure how she could stop worrying, when it was the ghost that worried her.

* * *

Sam was in the middle of a delicate adjustment of the device, with Malek overseeing the monitor, when someone knocked on the door frame. "Hey, Sam," Daniel said.

Without looking up, she said, "I'm working. Can this wait?"

"Jack wants you both in the briefing room at 1300," he said. "There's news about Baal, apparently, and he wants some input."

That was startling enough to grab her attention. Daniel was alone in the doorway, which freed her to make a face. "Figures. I'm finally doing something interesting and now he wants to talk. Malek, too?"

"He said so." He shrugged. "I talked with him last night. I don't know if it helped, but I told him he was being unfair."

"Thanks, Daniel."

"Thank you," Malek echoed. "We will be there."

"No problem." Daniel waved and left.

Sam turned her head to find Malek's gaze. "Does this thing have quantum reality powers?" she asked dryly, gesturing to the Ancient device on the table. "I could've sworn that was our Daniel, but it seems we slipped into another dimension when I wasn't looking."

He chuckled. "Don't say that. It is all too possible. Though not, I think, with this device." He glanced at it, eyeing it warily, and joked, "I hope."

They got to a stopping place with their test, then headed up to the briefing room. This time, Malek sat beside her, leaving her father to sit on the opposite side next to Teal'c. Jacob glanced between them and lifted his eyebrows. Sam gave a casual half-shrug, as if she didn't know what he meant, and hoped she wasn't blushing. Daniel hurried in, last, looking distracted.

"Have a seat, Daniel," O'Neill invited. "Teal'c was just about to explain to us that the Jaffa have some news about everybody's favorite megalomaniac."

Teal'c nodded his head. "Rak'nor led a mission to one of Anubis' bases. It was believed that it contained technology and possibly a weapons stockpile, and seemed abandoned or ignored by Baal in his attempt to reacquire Anubis' territory."

Malek snorted softly, and Teal'c looked at him, lifting a brow. Malek explained, "Baal _**ignores**_ very little, Teal'c. And never weaponry."

Teal'c inclined his head in agreement. "Indeed. It was a trap. Twelve rebel Jaffa were killed or captured. Rak'nor barely escaped with his life."

Jacob added, with a glance at Malek, "We also learned that Baal sent Kull warriors after Amaterasu. She's dead."

"So," O'Neill tapped the table with his hands, "what this means is we've got Baal wasting no time picking up where Anubis left off. But he's no quasi-Ascended thing, like Anubis. Command wants your opinion. How much of a threat is he? Is he gonna succeed? What can we do to stop him?" He directed the question at Jacob, with a wave of his hand.

But to Sam's surprise, Selmak nodded at Malek, passing the answer to him. "Of course he's a threat. Baal has many years of warfare experience. He is also one of the few Goa'uld interested in technology and technological advancement. We believe access to Anubis' knowledge was what drew Baal to agree to serve as his lieutenant. He may not know how to create _**more**_technology, as Anubis did, but he can certainly learn how to use what he's got very efficiently."

"And stopping him?"

He glanced across at Jacob and answered, "You should offer an alliance to Yu Shang-ti or Morrigan against him."

"The Free Jaffa would never accept such an arrangement," Teal'c warned.

Malek shot him a look. "Nor would the Tok'ra but we are not in a place to be so choosy about our allies anymore."

"I don't think Morrigan or Yu would go for it," Jacob said, reluctantly.

"Oshu is Yu's first prime, and runs the empire in all but name," Malek continued. "Many other Jaffa who did not join the rebellion have gone to serve under him. But others still unaffiliated have returned to serve Baal, because he offers them what they truly want, which is a powerful lord. But without help, both Morrigan and Yu will fall, and leave Baal the unquestioned supreme system lord."

He spoke bluntly, with a slight curl to his lip of distaste, and Sam realized that he didn't want to be saying any of this any more than Teal'c wanted to hear it. It was coolly practical - and she figured it was probably more Asheron's plan than Malek's.

O'Neill shook his head. "I bet you're right, but no one's gonna sign off on a plan that relies on allying with Goa'uld. Hell, I don't like it either."

"He will come here," Malek said flatly. "He knows Earth is his most persistent enemy. And he will not be bound by the Asgard treaty when he also knows the Asgard are weak."

"Even after we defeated Anubis with the Antarctica outpost?" Sam asked. "Would Baal really try again?"

"He's not going to come in ha'taks, Samantha," Malek said. "Baal will adapt his tactics. Though he prefers open attack, he understands the value of stealth." He hesitated, gaze flickering to the side perhaps consulting Asheron, and then added, "He wants to weaken Earth, while he pursues other goals. There are likely infiltrators here already."

"You just can't help bringing good news, can you?" O'Neill muttered.

"Better the truth," Malek said, "than a comforting lie."

O'Neill grunted but couldn't argue with that. "I'll pass it up to the Pentagon, but NID's already tasked with looking for Goa'uld here, so we'll just have to depend on them keeping an eye out, " O'Neill said. "At least we know Barrett's competent. But if you've got any ideas about where Baal might plant spies, let me know," he directed Malek and Jacob, who both nodded.

The briefing finished after that, and Sam was glad to return to her experiment. Malek assisted her for a while, then admitted Asheron was bored with the tedious experiments and he was going to take a break.

"Bored?" she asked, pretending shock and then heaving a sigh. "Fine. Abandon me."

His head dropped to change to Asheron, and when he lifted it again, he looked uncertain. He opened his mouth to speak, but then she laughed. "It's okay. It's boring, I don't blame you. But I'll be there later to watch you and Teal'c."

"To watch him kick my ass some more?" Asheron asked wryly.

"You're getting better," she grinned at him. "And I promise to give you a fitting reward for your bravery."

She gave him a kiss to send him on his way, and turned back to the work, hoping she could finish before he and Teal'c started, because yesterday's session had been quite a show.

* * *

One more file, Asheron told himself, and then he was going to the gym. It was fairly pathetic how much he looked forward to his daily sparring session with Teal'c.

*_Teal'c enjoys it as well,*_ Malek told him. *_You are the only person on base capable of presenting a challenge.*_

*_Benefits of blending,*_ Asheron gave a mental snort. It wasn't that he was especially skilled, although the frequent practice helped, but he had the enhanced ability and strength from Malek.

_*You are welcome,*_ Malek said, a little snidely, as Asheron pulled the file off the stack and opened it.

His stomach clenched when he read the Goa'uld name from the first page. Moloc. He knew that name. Moloc had been one of Ishtar's many under-lords, having a handful of worlds under his direct control including a large Jaffa homeworld. Moloc had visited court only once and had paid little attention to his queen's slave.

But as Asheron read through O'Neill's report, the anxiety provoked by the reminder faded, replaced by horror.

Moloc had been murdering the baby girls. And he was glad for the note about how the priestess Ishta had been rescuing them, creating the Hak'tyl. But there was no note that the practice had ended and no notation of a follow-up mission listed.

Surely Moloc wasn't still alive? This wasn't still going on?

*_Asheron...* _Malek started, but Asheron stood up and went to the gym at a fast clip.

*_I need to know.*_

"Teal'c," he greeted hurriedly as he entered. One sweep of his gaze showed the room still empty of onlookers, so he didn't wait longer than letting Teal'c greet him in return. "I have a question about the Hak'tyl."

Teal'c raised a brow, but otherwise waited patiently for Asheron to ask.

"Have you been back there?" Asheron asked.

"I have," Teal'c answered. "To visit the priestess Ishta. Twice."

"And Moloc? Is he still alive, still... murdering the baby girls?" Asheron asked, keeping his voice level even though it wanted to quaver with horror and disgust.

"He is," Teal'c paused, regarding Asheron. "Ishta saves those she can, but not all. You did not know what he was doing?"

Asheron stared at him for a moment, aghast and feeling defensive. "No, of course not! If the Tok'ra had known, we would've done something about it." What they might have done, he wasn't sure, but something. _He_ would certainly have pushed for Moloc's assassination.

"Moloc wanted more warriors and began these sacrifices many years ago," Teal'c had no accusation in his voice, but Asheron felt it regardless. Teal'c doubted that the Tok'ra hadn't known. "Thirty years, Ishta said. But she could only save --"

Asheron didn't hear the rest. Thirty years.

He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and his chest tightened up, claws of ice stabbing his ribs and clutching his heart so he couldn't breathe.

All he could manage was one faint whisper of denial, "No..."

*_Asheron? What happened?* _Malek asked in confusion, not following Asheron's leap of understanding.

Now Teal'c looked concerned. "Asheron? Malek? What is wrong?"

"What have I done?" Asheron whispered. He backed away from Teal'c, until he hit the wall behind him and couldn't retreat any farther.

He put both hands on the wall to either side, pressing against their solidity, as he explained in a voice that he could barely push through his throat. "Thirty years ago, Moloc started killing baby girls. He did that because he needed warriors, because there was unrest and a war of succession after Ishtar died. I killed her. Moloc killed those babies because of me."

*_Stop this at once,*_ Malek snapped. *_It is not your fault. Moloc is a murderous monster, like the rest of his kind. He killed the babies because he is evil and possibly insane or stupid, not because of you.*_

But Asheron shook his head, answering aloud, "That's not true. Wasn't I the one who pushed the council later into destabilizing Cronus so Baal would go after his territory? He needed Jaffa for that, too; warriors, not girls. That was my doing."

Teal'c was watching him, saying nothing, but Asheron was sure he saw some flicker of horror or disgust on his face.

"I need to fix this," he declared. "I have to stop it."

"What do you intend?" Teal'c asked.

There was really only one thing he could do. "I'm going to kill Moloc."

Teal'c's eyes flared wide with surprise, and Asheron felt pleased that he'd startled Teal'c out of his calm, if only for a moment. "The Hak'tyl have tried," Teal'c said, perhaps in caution. "He is well protected by loyal guards."

Asheron pushed himself from the wall, his anguish settling into cold determination. "No offense to your priestesses, but I have some experience they don't."

"You will not succeed alone."

"No. Which is why I'm going to ask O'Neill to lend me SG-1 to help. If you're willing," he waited for Teal'c's answer.

Teal'c inclined his head. "Yes."

"Good." After a moment, the weight of Teal'c's silence made him prompt, "What?"

"You are willing to risk your life for the Jaffa?" he asked.

_...Crystal beads from the fallen chandelier glinted like bright stars all over the dark wooden floor. Jisa's sequined dress was now dull with red blood, and her broken body was so small and limp against his chest....._

He blinked and answered honestly, "For the Jaffa? No. For parents." He paused and added in a murmur, looking away, "The Goa'uld murdered my daughter, Teal'c. I still see her face; how can I condemn another parent to that, when I started it?"

He could sense the disgust coming off in Teal'c in waves, and flinched a little when a big hand fell on his shoulder. But Teal'c left his hand there, gripping lightly. "You are incorrect. You killed Ishtar to free your people; and by doing so you gave hope to the Jaffa that some day we too would be free."

Surprised by the words when he had expected condemnation, Asheron glanced at him, and saw only understanding. "I will go with you," Teal'c said. "No matter what the Tau'ri decide I would be honored to go into battle with you."

"The honor is mine, Teal'c," They clasped arms in Jaffa-fashion, and bent their heads. For a moment the dispute at the Alpha Site two years ago flashed before Asheron's eyes, and he was darkly amused that the Teal'c from back then would never have said that.

But then, there had been times he had blamed all the Jaffa for Jisa's death, so perhaps they had both learned something.

* * *

Sam didn't have to ask why killing Moloc was so important to Asheron. She remembered the night Bra'tac had told the story of the Last King of Naritania and his murdered daughter, not realizing who sat at the fire with them at the Alpha Site. She also had no doubt this mission was tied into his current nightmares of Ishtar and wanting to kill her again, if only by proxy.

He was going to go, with or without Sam. Teal'c had always wanted to do away with Moloc, so he was eager to follow Asheron's lead on this.

All she had to do was exchange a glance with Daniel, and they were going. "We can't let you two go by yourselves, without us to back you up," she declared. "But we need a better plan than marching into Moloc's palace and getting killed."

At that point Asheron smiled at her, and she got chills of foreboding spreading across her skin.

His plan turned out not quite so bad as she had feared, but it was still going to be a costume mission. She and Asheron would play Goa'uld and Daniel their lotar, and Teal'c would be their "prisoner". They'd stop by the Hak'tyl for intel on the layout of the place and get Ishta's backup.

Sam thought the plan had a good chance if they got more intel, though she was uneasy with Asheron's determination to kill Moloc himself. "His Jaffa will be with him."

He shrugged. "If he doesn't recognize me, Malek will remind him of who I was. He'll see us alone, I think, out of curiosity, if nothing else. He will not expect an attack from a minor Goa'uld seeking a stronger patron. I'm sure I can find an opportunity."

Though it didn't turn out that was true. Because they weren't going.

"Are you crazy?" O'Neill looked at them after they laid out the plan for him.

"It's a good plan," Asheron said.

"It's an insane plan. You're gonna stroll into his palace, armed to the teeth and just kill him like that?" O'Neill snapped his fingers. "That'll never work."

"As opposed to strolling into Apophis' palace to rescue Daniel's wife?" Asheron shot back. "Or any number of other reckless, so-called 'plans' I've read in your files? This is far less risky than most of those. Malek and I know him and we've played Goa'uld before. It'll work and we'll rid the galaxy of him for good. The payoff is well worth the risk."

"I thought the Tok'ra were against piecemeal assassinations." O'Neill glared at Jacob, who had reluctantly agreed to the plan. They hadn't had a chance to talk about it in private, but Sam was pretty sure he'd agreed because Asheron was going to do it anyway.

"Usually yes," Jacob started. "But this -- "

"I don't know why you're so resistant, O'Neill," Asheron interrupted. "This is something you should've done when you found out what Moloc was doing."

"Us? How about how the Tok'ra didn't do anything about it for thirty years? Why is it suddenly our job to clean up after you?" O'Neill accused.

"We didn't know. Besides, you're the one always going on about being more active against the Goa'uld. So it's okay to completely overthrow the Goa'uld hierarchy without regard for what the chaos would do to people, but when the chance comes to save babies from being murdered, you don't care? What kind of selective morality is that?"

Sam winced. Asheron either had no idea of what he was saying to O'Neill, who'd lost his child, too, or he did, and it was a low blow.

"Of course I care!" O'Neill exclaimed. "More than you do, I'm sure! But I'm not going to throw my people away on a stupid plan."

For just one heartbeat the briefing room was silent, and then Asheron retorted coolly, "Then you don't have to. I don't need your approval to go myself. I can find some among the Hak'tyl to assist, if you're so determined to let Moloc's atrocities continue."

Sam finally had it and intervened with a hand on Asheron's arm, looking toward O'Neill. "Stop it, both of you. Asheron, you went too far when you said the general doesn't care; he does, and you know it. And you," she turned her eye on O'Neill, "you nearly got court-martialed for Merrin, and that was just one girl. You know we need to try to save these baby girls, and the only reason we didn't do it before was we had no way to get close. Asheron's plan is the best one we've got for taking out Moloc. So just say yes and let us go, because I know my commission's on thin ice anyway, and I don't have a lot to lose. You can't keep us here if we want to go."

O'Neill looked stubborn but didn't have time to say anything, because the alarm went off and the PA blared with Davis' voice from downstairs, "_Unscheduled gate activation."_

Sam glanced out the window to see the iris closing with the bright flashes of the wormhole leaking around it.

O'Neill stood up and started immediately for the stairs, and everyone else followed.

In the small amount of time she was on the stairs, the wormhole had already shut down and the iris was opening.

O'Neill asked, "Davis? What happened? Wrong number?"

"No, sir. There was a transmission," Davis reported. He called it up on the computer and it came through the speakers.

A male voice she didn't recognize said, "_Stargate Command, of Earth, this is Proctor Argelem of Pangar. We need your help. The tretonin isn't working. Our people are dying. Please we need your -- "_

Then it cut off. Davis answered the unspoken question. "That's all, sir. The wormhole cut out right then."

Sam frowned. That was odd -- a radio transmission should keep the wormhole open, unless the transmission cut out first and then the wormhole because of the lack of anything passing through it.

"Dial them back, see if we can lock," O'Neill ordered.

It turned out that they could lock to the Pangar gate but no one answered their attempts at radio contact.

O'Neill glanced at her. "Well, you said you wanted action. Gear up, you have your window in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir."

O'Neill turned his head to look at Malek. "And since you're so bored you want to go kill Goa'uld, I assume you want to go with?"

"Certainly," Malek answered. "If there is something wrong with the tretonin on Pangar, I must go."

"Right." He turned back to Sam. "Let's say two hours for a first status report. That should give you a chance to meet the locals and get some idea what you're up against. I'll have Doctor Brightman's team on standby if you need to medivac people. Go."

"Sir." With a glance, she gathered up the team and they headed out at a fast trot for the locker room.

_tbc..._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

_**-**_

_**-  
**_

It was night on Pangar when the team emerged from the gate. Sam looked around, frowning at the lack of anyone to meet them.

"No one is here, Major Carter," Teal'c said, confirming her impression.

"Maybe they went back to town," she suggested. "Let's head that way." She kept her hand tight on her P90 as they moved down the gravel path that headed toward the lights on the horizon.

"They had put guards on the gate when we left," Asheron said. He carried no gun, but his hand was on his zat as he watched to either side.

"Maybe the tretonin problem caused some sort of civil unrest," Daniel suggested.

Teal'c, who had point, lifted his free hand, and knelt to look at the ground more closely. "There was a scuffle here. Two men were dragged away by the heels, by a third. That way." He pointed his staff weapon to the left side of the road into the bushes that were at the foot of a the low rise.

She considered a moment, wondering if she should call for more backup. But she knew the teams were out, except for the S&R standby team, which had to stay on base in case someone else got in trouble.

"Let's keep going," she decided. "If there's a problem with the tretonin, we need to find out about it, no matter what else is going on." She gestured Teal'c to hang back and watch their six, now that there were possible unfriendlies behind them, and she took point.

There was no cover here, so no point in stealth, so she kept the pace brisk while being wary about what or who might be around.

But she wasn't watching the roadway particularly, until Asheron called, "No, Sam, don't -- "

She felt something under her boot - like a rock, but with give to it, more like a button - and she froze. Shit. Landmine?

A shining beam of energy wrapped around them in a circle and then a curtain rose up and closed in a dome above their heads. Then it disappeared, but she could still feel the electricity in the air, stirring her hair.

"Forcefield. Damn it," she swore.

Teal'c poked the forcefield with the tip of his staff, and it flared with bluish light, resisting him. The harder he pushed at it, the stronger it resisted and threw the staff backward.

"Pangarans don't have forcefields," Asheron said, turning slowly to peer into the darkness. "This is Goa'uld technology."

"They could've stolen it," Sam suggested. "Remember, they'd been planning to go look for another queen. Maybe they--" She broke off at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and turned to find the large, armored shadow approaching. For one heart-stopping second, she thought it was one of the Kull warriors. Then it moved into the moonlight, and she could see the armor was familiar, but definitely not an unstoppable supersoldier.

"Aris Boch!" Daniel exclaimed.

The bounty hunter lifted his visor and they saw it was someone they didn't know. "Not exactly. Name's Kichlor. But I'm glad you're familiar with what I do."

It was the same voice that had been on the radio. She exchanged a glance with Asheron as they realized they'd fallen into a trap.

Kichlor grinned at the four of them trapped inside the forcefield. "The Tau'ri SG-1. The _shol'va_ Teal'c, and Major Samantha Carter." He identified the two of them quickly and then frowned briefly at Daniel. "And you are Daniel Jackson, yes? Which should make you O'Neill," he looked at Asheron and frowned more deeply. "No, you are not O'Neill."

"No," Asheron agreed. "General O'Neill stays on Earth after his promotion."

"Ah," Kichlor nodded once. "Pity. And you are?" he looked at Asheron.

"Lieutenant John Connor," he answered.

Sam bit her tongue to keep from smiling at the alias. It made sense to give one though -- he wasn't going to bandy about his real name to a bounty hunter. There were certainly bounties still out on the Tok'ra, as well as the Tau'ri.

Kichlor entered the name into a hand-held computer and frowned. "Nothing for you," he looked up at Asheron. "Have you even been off your world?"

"A few times," Asheron answered with a shrug. "I didn't make any enemies."

"Too bad. That means you're worth nothing then." He raised his gun.

"No!" Daniel and Sam shouted together, and moved in front of him. "You can let him go," Daniel blurted. "Please, just let him go. You don't have to kill him."

Kichlor looked between them, toward Asheron, and tilted his head to one side slightly, examining him.. "You look familiar to me," he mused. "Something about the face… You wouldn't be giving me a false name, would you?"

Against her shoulder, she could feel the sudden tension in Asheron's arm.

"He's John," she confirmed and tried to smile. "I don't know who else he'd be."

She realized she should have kept her mouth shut when the bounty hunter gave her a searching look and then turned back to Asheron, frowning.

"You'll stay here, while I go check the computer in the ship," Kichlor said, and walked toward the ridge, where presumably his ship sat cloaked.

She turned to Asheron, who was watching Kichlor go. "Is he going to find anything?" she asked softly.

He drew in a deep breath, before answering in a murmur, "All the Goa'uld will pay for a Tok'ra. The question is whether he matches my face or not."

"At least you're not known on sight, like we are," Daniel said, attempting to cheer him up. He threw a small rock at the force field making it flare briefly, and looked disgruntled. "Fell into this one, didn't we?"

"We'll miss check in," Sam reminded. "The general will know something's wrong."

"That's not for two hours," Daniel said. "We could be light years away by then."

"Then hopefully this guy will think John's just some harmless lieutenant and let him go," she said.

"I don't think so," Asheron answered. He seemed certain, and she shook her head, wondering why people thought _**she**_ was a pessimist.

She smiled, trying to tease him, "I didn't think Malek was that notorious."

He shook his head, not amused. "You might be surprised," he answered. He folded his arms and stared in the direction of the ship, as if wishing he had X-ray vision and could watch what the bounty hunter was doing.

She found herself crossing her fingers that the bounty hunter wouldn't find Asheron's face on anything, then wasn't sure if that would mean the bounty hunter would just kill him. He was of Aris Boch's race, and Boch hadn't been willing to murder an innocent person, but this one didn't have to share the same code.

Kichlor came strolling back, with a little bounce in his step and a grin at Asheron. "Nice try, _**Malek of the Tok'ra**_," he emphasized the name sarcastically. "I can't even be angry, since you're going to make me very, very rich."

Asheron said nothing, but he didn't seem surprised.

"'Very, very rich'?" Daniel repeated curiously. "How rich?"

Kichlor grinned. "Rich enough we're all going to take a long trip."

Asheron stepped forward. "Morrigan is closer. She'll pay you the same for SG-1. And I assure you, she'll reward you well for my capture. Then we'll be off your hands."

Kichlor smirked at him. "Do you have any idea what Baal is offering to the person who brings you to him alive?"

Sam felt her stomach sink somewhere down to her toes. The bounty hunter wanted to take them to Baal?

"And you think he's going to pay you all that?" Asheron countered. "You'll be lucky if he lets you live."

Kichlor shook his head in somewhat rueful amusement. "Give you credit, you do keep trying. But Baal keeps his contracts. Even without O'Neill, this is going to be quite a reward. So we're going on a trip. Try and escape, and I'll stick you all in stasis. But for now, nighty-night."

He did something to the weapon on his arm and shot each of them with it.

Sam was last, watching the men fall before her. She had enough time to wonder just how large the bounty on Malek was, before the zat-like gun hit her.

* * *

Sam awoke on a hard floor. Her muscles complaining, she pushed herself up to standing and looked around. She'd been stripped of her jacket, belt, and the knife in her boot.

She was in a cargo hold of a ship. The three guys were there too, Daniel and Asheron were still lying on the floor, each a few feet from her. But Teal'c was sitting up.

"There are forcefields, Colonel Carter," Teal'c said, as soon as he saw her rise. "Do not touch the lines on the floor."

That was when she noticed the cross-hatch pattern in the floor. The four of them were each in their own two-meter square, separated by narrow glowing white lines. There were matching lines in the ceiling. She stood and very lightly reached into the barrier.

"Ow! Damn it!" She shook her hand, now full of painful tingles, as though she'd just touched a live wire. She saw Teal'c's lips twitch in a small smile.

"I believed you," she insisted. "I just needed to test the field strength."

"It is strong," Teal'c said, still looking amused. "I do not believe it is possible to cross it."

"No, probably not." She could figure it out if she had access to her gear in the backpacks she could see piled up at the far wall. But they might as well be in China for all she could get to them. She sat down again, tucking her knees up. "So. Baal. This isn't good."

"Indeed."

She glanced at Malek. "Baal has a bounty on him. Big one, sounds like."

Teal'c raised his eyebrows. "Asheron killed a System Lord, Colonel Carter. One whom Baal once served."

She frowned. "How would Baal know that? No one knew that, even other Tok'ra. No, it's Malek he has the bounty on."

"Then there is some enmity between them," Teal'c suggested. "Perhaps Malek infiltrated his ranks and gained some valuable intelligence."

"Something like that, I'm sure." She gave a little shrug and glanced at Malek's still form. "I guess we'll just have to wait 'til he wakes up and ask."

* * *

Malek and Asheron were not asleep though Asheron wished he were.

Baal.

Asheron's chest seemed tight, so it was hard to draw in a deep breath.

He did not want to go there. Did not want to see him. Did not want those memories back again.

Malek was not anxious -- he was angry. *_You should not fear him, Asheron. We should do to him as you did to Ishtar. I only wish I had succeeded that last time.*_

Malek's thoughts reminded Asheron, the little snippets darting through his memory: The knife. The blazing dark eyes. The blood. Himself, yelling _No!_, but only in his mind. Malek running, escaping…

*_I will try again, and this time, I will not miss,*_ Malek declared, his blood and emotions running hot and violent.

*_Do you think he's going to give you a chance? You tried to kill him. You think he's not going to be angry about that?*_ Asheron responded, trying to keep calm against his symbiote's temper. *_He's not going to do anything but punish us for it.*_

*_Let him try. He butchered my people,* _Malek snarled. *_I will avenge them.*_

Asheron pushed himself up to his feet in one swift movement, seeking some sort of distraction from both Malek's fury and his own anxiety.

"Don't touch --" Sam's startled voice was warning enough and he halted, right before touching the buzzing forcefield.

He found the invisible walls very close, keeping them all apart from each other in bare little cells. His gaze met Sam's and he forced a little smile. "I believe the proper phrase is, "this sucks.""

"Welcome to SG-1," she answered, with her own wry look.

Daniel added, from where he was lying on his back on the floor, staring at the ceiling, "Yeah, aren't you glad you wanted to come with us?"

"Better this than sitting in the commissary doing nothing," he answered. It was even true. He would rather be here, with SG-1 in the cargo hold of a bounty hunter's ship, than reading old mission reports in the commissary or arguing with O'Neill for another endless day. More importantly, he didn't want Daniel or Sam or Teal'c to blame themselves for getting him into this -- he'd done it to himself, with his own impatience.

Daniel chuckled. "And I thought I had a low boredom threshold."

"You do," Sam retorted.

Asheron paced around the perimeter of his small box, looking for a flaw he and Malek might exploit. Unfortunately the set-up was designed for capturing Goa'uld and Tok'ra and trained Jaffa. Not until Kichlor lowered the fields to bring them food and water or to escort them to the toilet would they have a chance to try anything.

*_He may not risk lowering the field, with us,*_ Malek pointed out, more his rational self again. *_He may believe us a greater risk, as well as able to endure privation better. The bounty says only that we must be alive.*_

*_Not good health, I know.*_ He hoped Kichlor wasn't going to starve them the three or four days it would take to reach Saphon. But just in case, there was no point expending his energy uselessly. He sat down again, cross-legged.

Daniel didn't wait very long. He twisted himself up to the same position and looked inquiringly at him. "'Very, very rich'?" he repeated. "Why? What did you do?"

Asheron answered with a small shrug. "Malek stabbed him and escaped. Baal wasn't very happy about it."

Malek was sarcastic. *_Pithy. Truthful and yet highly misleading.*_

Asheron ignored him. He had no intention of telling the _**whole**_story. Ever.

Sam nodded. "Malek was his prisoner?"

"For a short time," Asheron answered. He was not thinking about it. He was not remembering. Long experience at avoiding memories let him keep the images bolted down in the back of his head.

Mostly.

...

_... A cool breeze stirs his hair, as he looks out into an endless dark blue sky arching over the great valley below the fortress. A warm hand slides down his bare back, as he feels the heat of a body next to his..._

_...  
_

Asheron shuddered and shoved the memory away, as Malek quivered in revulsion. There were things he didn't want to remember, especially with Sam in the cell next to him on the way to the same place.

But after a moment, Malek muttered to him, *_At least his anger will prevent a repetition of that.*_

_*Because torture is so much better,*_ Asheron returned dryly.

Daniel drew his attention back to the present, "So how big is the bounty?"

Grateful for the distraction, he answered, "I'm not certain. It was three million linars when we last heard, several years ago," he answered. It had been something of a point of pride among Tok'ra for how much their individual bounties were. Malek's had not been the largest, but it had been impressive for one who had not had more than the minimal Tok'ra bounty for a thousand years before that. "I would guess it's higher now, if he knows I -- we -- escaped Mekardin."

Sam gave a low whistle. "Not bad."

The door opened and Kichlor returned. "Everyone fine?"

"Are you going to feed us?" Daniel asked. "Or let us go use the head?"

"Of course," Kichlor answered, sounding affronted. "I'm civilized, you know." He touched his control device on his wrist armor. One side of Daniel's 'cell' went dark, even as others lit up along the floor, demarking a path to an opening hatch. "You can go first."

Daniel fought against saying something sarcastic and settled on the polite response. "Thank you." He went to the head and the hatch closed behind him.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked. "We tried to help your people and you hate the Goa'uld as much as we do."

He shrugged. "It didn't work, did it? And a man's got to feed his family. You four are going to feed them a long time."

Sam gave a little sigh and gave up trying to appeal to his mercy. "So what are we worth?" Sam asked curiously. "It used to be a lot."

"It's a lot," Kichlor confirmed with a laugh. "But not as much as his," he glanced at Asheron, who felt the heavy weight in his gut grow with sick apprehension. "Five million for you, Tok'ra. Nothing for you dead, though, so mind you keep yourself healthy."

Even Malek was stunned. *_Five million linars for us?*_

*_I told you he's angry.*_ He stood up and addressed Kichlor through the invisible wall, "They don't need to go. Drop them off at Morrigan," Asheron suggested. "She'll pay for them, and then, I promise, I'll go peacefully to Baal. I'll even copilot the damn ship. Just don't take them there."

"No!" Sam objected, jumping to her feet and standing at the 'wall' between them. "We go together."

Asheron ignored her, and applied himself to convincing Kichlor. "There's no need to take them to Baal. He won't pay anything more for them, and he'll probably pay less if he's going to pay for me. Drop them off at Morrigan and maximize your earnings."

Kichlor was tempted, Asheron could see that.

"What are you doing? We need to stay together," Sam protested. "If we get scattered all over the galaxy, we won't all get rescued."

He wished she would be quiet. She wasn't helping anything.

Kichlor glanced at Sam and back to Asheron. "Seems the Tau'ri don't agree. If she wants to go to Baal, who am I to stop her?"

"But, you -- " Asheron tried again, but Kichlor wouldn't listen to him.

"Do you want food or do you want to keep trying to change my mind?" he asked, holding up some kind of nutrition stick. Asheron gave up, at least for the moment, to eat and visit the head. While there, he and Malek searched for something they might use as a weapon or way out, but the panels were all smooth and tight-fitting, nearly all one piece. Their strength was useless, since they could find no gap to pull open the wall. It was highly frustrating.

The ration stick tasted terrible, but he ate it to keep up his strength, glad Kichlor wasn't going to starve them. There had to be a way out. They just had to find it.

After Kichlor returned to the front, leaving them alone, Sam and Daniel both turned on him. "What was that?" she demanded. "Leave us with Morrigan and let you go off alone to face Baal?"

"Better one than all of us," he answered.

Daniel shook his head. "Look, we know what Baal can do, because he did it to Jack, but at least together we can spread it around."

"That's not how it's going to happen," Asheron answered, drawing up his knees to rest his arms on them. He pleated the olive drab fabric of his pants and watched the pattern absently. "He's not going to torture all of us. He'll pick one or two of us, make the others watch, and wait to see who folds first."

It was going to be him, he knew it already. He had too many cracks that Baal knew too well.

*_Not if I help you,*_ Malek murmured gently, flooding him with affection. *_You're not alone this time, Asheron. And you are stronger than you believe.*_

He took some courage and strength from Malek's support and tried to ease the fear knotting in his chest and abdomen.

Sam spoke again, more thoughtfully, as she watched him, "The SGC is going to look for us, you know. If we're all together, we'll be easier to find and rescue."

He let out a sigh, wondering why this was so difficult for her to understand. "If you were with Morrigan it's likely you could escape on your own. She's losing against Baal, and there are probably more rebel Jaffa in her ranks than loyal ones. You could find someone to let you out. Morrigan might even ally herself with Earth against Baal. On Tartarus or his home world of Saphon, that's not possible. We'll be captive, and Baal will use us against each other. That's what he does."

Sam drew near the forcefield and looked in his eyes. "Listen to me, Asheron," she said quietly. "I know what you're afraid of. But you can't give in, not for me. No matter what he does, that's not what I want. Okay? I'm a soldier, I accept that I might be hurt or killed to defend my country and my world. He can only use us against each other if we let him. Got it?"

Asheron nodded, trying to show resolution. But he was bleakly certain that it wasn't going to be that easy. No matter what she might want, it was going to be difficult to watch Baal hurt her. He might withstand witnessing that, but the threat wasn't just to Sam -- harm to Turan might very well be permanent and kill any hope for a rebirth of the Tok'ra forever. A far worse idea occurred to him. "Sam, we can't let him know about Turan," he said. "Not who she is. He'll kill her."

"Can't we just call her another name?" Daniel asked. "He'd never know the difference."

"How about Anise?" Sam suggested. "She obviously has to be a Tok'ra or Malek and Dad would've taken her out of me. And she can't speak, um, because she was hurt in the attack on Mekardin. Will that work?"

"It should. As long as we all stick to the story," he agreed with another nod. An injured Tok'ra could go dormant within a host to heal. It wasn't an option the Goa'uld took, since they used the sarcophagus, but it happened occasionally. A crippled Tok'ra would be less interesting to him, certainly, than a larval queen.

And neither Sam or Daniel were going to be as interesting as a shol'va. Or himself.

*_We will kill him,* _Malek promised and reminded him of Anise and Garshaw and all the others who'd died on Mekardin.

For a moment, his symbiote's anger sustained him. But Asheron glanced at Sam, thinking of her and Turan tucked safely within her, and he couldn't hold onto his anger as anxiety twisted in his gut again. Baal had learned from his queen well, and he knew all of Asheron's weak points.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he let the hours pass, trying not to imagine all the different ways this could be very bad.

* * *

Kichlor's converted al'kesh arrived in-system with a hum and shuddering as its hyperdrive gave way to the sublight engines. The artificial gravity kept the ship steady as it headed into a planetary gravity well, but Sam heard the ship's struts creak as the forces of the atmosphere pushed at the ship. That likely meant they weren't at Tartarus, which had very little atmosphere, but they could be just about anywhere else. Since they were all stuck in the cargo hold, there was no way to see where they were.

The ship landed with a bump, and she glanced at her team. Teal'c had his usual stoic face and Daniel looked a bit cynically amused by it all. And Asheron - no, Malek was in control, she decided as he stood up. His jaw was tight and he was glaring, which was not the same as Asheron's brooding.

Kichlor appeared then, grinning at them happily. "We've made it."

Sam was about to ask where they were, when something banged on the outside hatch loudly. Kichlor went to the hatch controls, whistling.

The sound of Jaffa boots came inside, and a full squadron of Baal's Jaffa warriors including one marked with the silver of a second prime crowded into the room, with weapons charged. The prime sneered at Teal'c in disdain, but showed more open surprise at the sight of Asheron, recognizing him. Asheron ignored him.

"Out," the Jaffa ordered. "My lord is waiting."

SG-1 and Kichlor were herded together, and escorted out.

A burst of cold air hit Sam across the face as they went outside. She looked around curiously. They were in a high mountainous place, on a landing platform that also housed several other al'kesh, tel'taks and farther away a single ha'tak. In the opposite direction, hugging the mountainside was a vast palace complex of massive stone walls encircling gardens, buildings, and towers. Down below she glimpsed a sprawling city on either bank of a silver ribbon of a river.

"Saphon," Malek said softly, more to himself as he looked up at one of the towers.

The Jaffa marched them through a heavy gate, which looked as if stone and metal were the only defenses, but Sam spied small emitters in the walls, probably for forcefields. Yet she saw no telltale shimmer in the sunlight of a shield over the palace and wondered if Baal was just that confident in his orbital defenses, or he had some other means of protection.

They passed through a formal garden with trimmed hedges and a marble-lined reflecting pool fifty feet long. Rather to her surprise, there weren't statues of Baal everywhere, but his sigil was emblazoned in gold above the double doors at the end of the garden.

More Jaffa stood in formal armor at the doors, and opened them for the new arrivals.

The throne room or temple, if there was a difference, was a cavernous space with a towering dome ceiling, white walls, granite floors etched in a repeating pattern of his sign, and Baal's throne at the end, on a dais three steps off the floor. Except for two tall stands burning with steady flame, the rest of the lighting was artificial, disdaining the usual Goa'uld practice of pretending to medieval technology.

Standing on the floor was a Jaffa who had to be his first prime, given the golden emblem on his forehead. There were other Jaffa standing at the side, on guard, but they were there for decoration. Chillingly, the true guard was the single shadow-like Kull warrior at the wall behind the throne. There was absolutely nothing in the room that would stop it, if it decided to attack.

Baal's throne itself was a high backed thing topped by his sigil, with a center circle that glowed right over his head like the sun. He was waiting for them, arms casually on the arm rests, dressed in boots, brown pants and long shirt with a dark maroon coat over it with a high collar and sleeves that draped down on either side of the throne.

"Kneel before your god," the Jaffa behind them ordered. Sam knelt. Sam understood the impulse to be defiant, but she had never really seen the point in letting the Jaffa club her. Daniel did the same, next to her.

"He is a false god," Teal'c declared. Baal smirked slightly, as if Teal'c's defiance was expected and mildly amusing.

The Jaffa hit Teal'c behind the knees and he fell.

Malek didn't kneel either, she noticed -- she glanced up to see that he was staring at Baal.

Actually, she realized, their gazes were locked, dark glares that sizzled between them. It lasted only a moment, until he too was knocked down to his knees.

Baal jerked his gaze away to look at Kichlor. "O'Neill was not with them?"

Kichlor bowed obsequiously. "No, my lord."

"As expected. Well done, Kichlor." Baal lifted a hand from his throne and his first prime approached two steps. "R'zac, see that he is paid. Ten million linars. In gold or naquadah."

Kichlor gasped, apparently not expecting such a high amount. Even Sam was impressed that he was getting the entire reward. He bowed his head. "My lord, you are most generous."

Kichlor bowed again, preparing to leave, but was forestalled by Baal's thoughtful voice, "Or... You may choose, Kichlor. You may take the money and continue your independent ways. Or you forgo the bounty, agree to work for me freely, and I eliminate the roshna dependency from your people."

Sam stared, amazed by the offer. Kichlor was no less shocked and stammered, "My lord?"

Baal mused, "Ten million buys a lot of roshna for yourself and your family on the black market, I know. You can live quite comfortably on that. Or you can accept my word that I will do what I say and work for me, without the reward."

Sam watched the two of them, wondering if he was serious. At her side, Teal'c shifted restlessly and declared, "It's a trick. Do not believe him."

Holding up a hand to stop one of the Jaffa from hitting Teal'c for his insolence, Baal shook his head and addressed Kichlor. "Actually, my friend Teal'c is incorrect. It's not a trick; it's a dilemma. Do you want to be rich or free? You have until the end of the day to tell me your decision."

Kichlor still looked poleaxed. "No, no, my lord. I have no choice, if you're willing to free us, then I'll work for you. I -- I don't understand why you'd do that, though. After all this time."

Baal seemed pleased by his choice, and explained, "The galaxy's entering a new era, Kichlor, and the wise god must change with it. We will speak more later."

He waved once in dismissal and Kichlor was escorted out, bowing and scraping the whole way.

"Trickery," Teal'c spat. "You're going to kill them all."

"No, certainly not," Baal retorted, looking offended. "That's the trouble with you, Teal'c. You have such a narrow vision of what could be."

Then he folded his hands together and looked at each of them in turn. "I have waited a long time for this day, to have the notorious SG-1 at my feet. Pity O'Neill no longer travels with you. That would've been very entertaining. Samantha Carter, now host to a Tok'ra vermin." She returned his look calmly, while wondering how the hell he knew that. Could he sense her from way over there? Or did he already know? But Baal's attention moved on. "Daniel Jackson. I remember you from the summit. And of course, the shol'va Teal'c. I am certain you have useful information on the rebel Jaffa to give me." Teal'c looked back stonily. Baal's gaze came to rest on Asheron and narrowed. "And Asheron of Naritania, host of Malek of the Tok'ra." His voice became a dangerous purr. "I certainly have not forgotten our last encounter."

Malek answered with a small smile, "Nor have I."

Baal stood and walked down the steps of the dais toward Malek. "I have no wish to speak to you, Tok'ra. Have Asheron come forth, or I will kill one of the others."

Malek ducked his head and Asheron looked up. "I have nothing to say to you."

Baal took a knife from the inside of his long coat and held it with deadly intent in his right hand. "You will pay for your betrayal," he growled, and Sam felt her heart clench in sudden fear that Baal was going to kill Asheron right here, before her eyes.

Asheron had no fear in his face at all as he retorted, "You broke the agreement. What did you expect?"

"I **expected** that you --" Baal snarled, with visible anger, and he took a step nearer, naked blade catching the light as he angled it in position to cut Asheron's throat. But then he stopped. He watched Asheron at his feet for a long silent moment, and slowly lowered the knife to his side.

Beside her, Sam felt Daniel look at her in shock and she quickly turned her head to share a glance with him. He looked even more surprised than she felt. Why had Baal hesitated and stopped? He had offered to pay a massive bounty for Malek, equal to the entirety of SG-1. Surely that rather staggering amount was a measurement for how angry he was that Malek had tried to kill him? So why hesitate?

Sam felt very cold as she turned back. The only thing that made sense was that Baal thought killing Asheron and Malek with a knife was too quick. He would want them to suffer.

Asheron had to know that, but he returned Baal's look proudly, without flinching or cowering. Sam expected Baal to strike him or ribbon him, to punish him for his insolence. But Baal didn't move. He just continued to look down at Asheron, with a frown between his brows. If Sam hadn't known better, she could believe the two were communicating telepathically, since they hadn't unlocked their gazes for the space of several breaths.

Abruptly Baal seemed to recall that he had an audience. He spun away and ordered, "Jaffa, take the Tau'ri and the shol'va to the holding cells. I will deal with them later."

The first prime R'zac gestured toward Asheron and asked, "Lord? The Tok'ra?"

Baal's expression was pure satisfaction. "He stays."

Jaffa pulled Sam to her feet and shoved her toward the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at the door to see Asheron still on his knees, while Baal resumed his throne. She hoped Asheron would look her way so she could give him some sort of smile of support, a silent promise that they would come rescue him as soon as they could, but he didn't take his eyes off the Goa'uld.

She wondered what was going to happen to him. O'Neill had never been specific what had happened while he'd been Baal's captive, but she had read Janet's report and seen the remnants of his clothes so she had a good idea. Tortured to death and revived over and over again. Was that what Asheron now faced?

But as the Jaffa pushed them into their own little cells somewhere underneath the palace, she realized two puzzling facts. First, Baal had known Asheron's name and that he was from Naritania, which suggested he'd known him even before Malek. But if he'd known, why not spread that information far and wide? Surely the other Goa'uld would also have offered a bounty on the infamous Slayer of Ishtar?

But even more puzzling, Asheron had mentioned some sort of agreement between them which Baal had broken. Why on Earth would a Tok'ra **ever** make a bargain with a Goa'uld, knowing they were not going to keep it?

Unfortunately she wasn't likely to find out any time soon.

_to be continued.._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The Negotiations. Or, where we see our hero start to go off the rails...

Also, warning for sexual content in this chapter. Heed the pairings.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**-  
**

Asheron sat in the padded chair next to the small table of the sitting room of Baal's personal quarters, trying not to show how tense he was. But he was. Malek was helping keep his reactions under control, but he still felt like a strung bow. He'd never thought to be here again, and now that he was, it was much harder than he'd expected.

One of Baal's lotars poured them both tea, and Baal waved him out. Baal came back to the table and picked up one tea cup with the hand without the ribbon device on it. He handed the delicate porcelain to Asheron, with dark eyes intensely watching Asheron's face.

Reaching out to accept the cup felt symbolic, as if the cup was representing something more. Asheron reminded himself sharply that it was a cup of tea.

Yet there was no denying that Baal smiled when Asheron took the cup from him He continued to look pleased as he took another chair and leaned back casually. He never took his eyes from Asheron even when he sipped his tea.

Asheron broke the silence first, indicating the sitting room and the tea with a wave of his free hand. "I have to admit I'm… surprised. I thought you were angry."

Baal nodded a little, agreeing. As always when they were in private, he dropped the Goa'uld tone - a habit Asheron appreciated, even though he knew it didn't change who was speaking. "I was. I was going to kill you. But then," the frown deepened on his face and he gazed for a moment at Asheron, "I remembered… The last time you knelt on the floor before me." A small smile turned his lips, widening into a chuckle when Asheron had to look away.

Because he remembered too.

Their last day, early morning, before it had all gone to hell --

*_Stop,*_ Malek snapped on the memory, forcing the image away. *_I don't want to remember any of that.*_

Neither did Asheron, but looking at Baal was making it difficult.

Funny thing was, he had remembered the first time he'd knelt before Baal, not the last…

* * *

_In audience with Ishtar, when she asks what boon her victorious general desires, Baal's gaze falls on Asheron, kneeling beside her throne. "Your zhi'lotar, my queen. For one night. I wish to learn why he fascinates you so." He smiles very slightly. It's a challenge, and everyone in the chamber knows it._

_"You want my pet?" she asks, but not angrily. Her hand strokes his hair. He stiffens and makes his face blank. He fights the urge to flinch away. Her touch makes him want to be sick. But there's fear too, from what she says. She sounds like she's considering it. She might, for the first time, give him to someone else. He hates her and fears her, the pain is often more than he can bear, but at least he knows what to expect. He opens his mouth to object or plead, but her fingers twist in his hair and jerk back his head. _

_"Careful, my love," she purrs. "You are mine to do with as I please. If I wish you to entertain the priests, or if I wish to give you to my general for a night, then I will. I have heard that my dear Baal can be quite… passionate." The sharp fingertip of the ribbon device on her other hand trails down his exposed throat to the gold collar that marks him as her property, "Perhaps I should let him have you, and see if he can teach you new tricks. What do you say to that, little one?"_

_He knows the answer to this one. "As you wish, Radiance." The words come out automatically, hoping to please her so she won't punish him for his earlier insolence. _

_Now here he is, forehead bowed to the carpet of Baal's personal quarters on his ha'tak. Ishtar has reminded him of the need for obedience and not to embarrass her with her general. After the reminders, the sarcophagus left him without a mark on his skin, but he is jittery, and it is hard to keep still. He's nervous-- he wants to please, but he isn't sure what Baal wants from him. He believes it's the same thing Ishtar wants, but he doesn't know, and the not knowing is more frightening. Even if he's right, it doesn't help. He knows in theory he can do to another man what he once liked for himself, but beyond that, he has only the vaguest idea. He's never done it before. He certainly doesn't want to, although he knows his wants have nothing to do with anything anymore. He never __**wants**__ to touch Ishtar either, but he does. If he pleases her well, usually she won't hurt him._

_"Rise." Baal's voice is deep, with the timbre of all the Goa'uld._

_Uncertain what he means, Asheron straightens his back, but dares not look up. He puts his hands on his knees, having to remind himself not to clutch them. His fingers itch restlessly and an annoying tingle creeps across his skin._

_"Stand and let me look at you," Baal orders, and so he does, relieved to be moving. He wears only a pleated kilt and the golden collar and bracelets, as she prefers. Though he's rarely discomfited by being so underdressed in even a public audience anymore, he's aware of the dark eyes examining him from the other side of the room._

_"The appeal is undeniable," Baal says and it is a purr of unmistakable interest. "My queen, as always, has exquisite taste in her servants, if not their clothing."_

_He keeps his gaze down, but he can see that Baal appears to be fully dressed in a high-collared coat and layered tunics of dark green and brown. He's standing by a table set for tea with two chairs. There is no bed in this room, so the bedroom must lie behind the opposite door, probably with the sarcophagus._

_"Asheron, isn't it?" Baal asks, in a conversational tone._

_The sound of his name makes him flinch. He's had __**this**__ test before. Very softly, he replies, "No, my lord. Not anymore."_

_But the reminder stirs him inside, that he __**is**__ Asheron. Every day it grows harder to keep hold of Asheron, but there remains a small core that remembers the promise that someday all these invaders will be overthrown and his world will be safe._

_His shoulders twitch in an involuntary shudder, and he tries to stop. But the prickly feeling passes down his body to his bare feet, making his toes curl into the carpet._

_Baal lets out a short breath of disgust. "Ishtar's command, of course." He pauses a moment in thought, and then declares, "Your name is Asheron. And while we are here, in private, it is what I will call you and what you will answer to. Understood?"_

_"As you wish, my lord." The answer is perfect, but he suddenly can't stop trembling. His heart starts racing, pounding in his chest, and he puts his hands up, pressing on his ribcage as if he can make it stop. Something's wrong. The sarcophagus must not have fixed him correctly, because suddenly he's shaking and his heart is beating like the frightened wings of a hover bird. His eyes fly up to meet Baal's, and he opens his mouth, maybe to do something foolish like ask for help, but nothing comes out._

_Baal moves across the floor in only a few sweeping strides and seizes his chin to keep it raised when Asheron tries to respectfully lower it again. The lights seem much too bright. He looks into Asheron's eyes and his own narrow at what he sees. "How many times have you been in the sarcophagus today?" he demands._

_Asheron can't think, he can barely breathe through the pain in his chest, but he has to answer. "Three," he forces out, "And last night. Twice, I think." He isn't sure. He remembers a blur of her voice and fire and the bright lights bringing him back to fire again. _

_Baal pulls him to one of the chairs, pushing him into it. "Sit." _

_Asheron's vaguely aware he's not supposed to be sitting in one of the lords' presence, but if it's what Baal wants then maybe he should, and it does feel better to sit._

_His vision blurs and darkens, and the tingling feeling in his hands and feet intensifies, and locks his chest so he can't breathe. But the feeling fades, and his sight comes back. He's not dying after all. Not this time._

_A cup of tea has somehow appeared on the table before him. He looks up in confusion, realizing Baal is serving him. There are no lotars in the room. No other lotars than himself, anyway._

_"Drink," Baal says. "I will speak to Ishtar about controlling herself better. Her dependence on the sarcophagus has always been…," he hesitates and Asheron has the impression he means to make a stronger criticism, but tempers it in the end, "excessive. Drink," he orders, more sternly._

_Picking up the cup in both hands, he tries not to spill it as he sips the hot liquid. Whether it's the tea, or the mere fact that Baal is sitting at the other side of the table, watching him without a move toward him, he soon feels more normal. The tea is good, a green tea blend from southern Kantara he thinks. It reminds him of his mother's favorite tea, and her parties held in the summer palace by the lake when he was a teenager._

_No. Memories of Naritania are dangerous when he's with a Goa'uld. He must never be Asheron of Naritania with them. Asheron the Third does not exist, not here. _

_He puts the cup down, and his fingers are only trembling a little._

_"Better?" Baal asks, head cocked a little to the side considering him._

_"Yes, my lord. Thank you."_

_"There will likely be another reaction," Baal tells him. "There is nothing you can do except wait for it to stop."_

_Uncertain if he should reply or not, Asheron says nothing and nods once. There is an awkward moment -- part of Asheron feels he should slide down to the floor, back to his place, but the other is basking in feeling human again, at least for as long as it lasts. He's sitting in a chair, drinking tea. He can barely remember the last time that happened. He decides not to move until ordered to do so._

_Baal muses aloud. "She could not refuse my request, so she tried to sabotage you and make you useless for my purpose. But I do not share her lack of patience. We have the night, and I will wait for what I want."_

_Asheron is stunned. Despite his obvious weakness, Baal still wants him in his bed? But he wants to take the memory of tea to his pallet and enjoy it unspoiled by what is to come._

_Very carefully he keeps his head down, and tries to make his voice meek, even if he's feeling more determined than meek. He wants out and he's willing to accept the consequences. "My lord? I'm very sorry, but I feel I should warn you -- I have no experience, no training in relations with ... men. I'll be very bad at it. You should do as you wish to punish me now and find another who can please you tonight."_

_He expects anger, and braces for it. Ishtar would be furious with his implied refusal and rejection. She would probably ribbon him right away or grab her whip. But sometimes he provokes her on purpose, because he often has a respite from her for some days after he is especially willful. For now he'll settle for getting out of this room, back to what's familiar._

_But Baal is silent and after a moment, Asheron dares a glance. Baal is watching him, and the corners of his mouth lift upward in a tolerant smile when their eyes meet. "Not as broken as you pretend, are you?" he asks softly. "I thought so. The broken ones are very dull during zhir'khallen. I think you'll learn quickly."_

_He still intends for Asheron to serve him, in spite of all. Asheron wonders why -- he's not irresistible. There must be more to it. But there is nothing to do about it now but endure what happens. _

_Ishtar warned him to obey or suffer the consequences. In any case, being used by a male body, instead of a female, seems like a rather small indignity in the face of all that he's done and suffered in the last six months. Not that there's any point in being ashamed either. His body's not his own -- he spends most of each day trying to distance himself from it._

_The body is nothing -- a machine easily broken and just as easily repaired. But the mind and spirit are fragile and need as much protection as he can give. He's quite skilled at it now. He presses himself flat and turns sideways in the back of his mind, so there's very little that can touch the exposed edge. Asheron has to go away and keep safe, even if every time he does this, a little less of him comes back._

_When he looks up, he's a blank sheet of paper. He has no expectations, no fear, nothing. He waits._

_Baal frowns, maybe catching his change of expression or the new emptiness of his eyes. Baal seems more observant than Ishtar, which is a worry for another time. He stands and very deliberately, finger by finger, sheds the ribbon device from his left hand and sets it on the table. And his voice, when he speaks, loses that distinctive Goa'uld vibration, becoming more warmly human. "I have no interest in your pain. Only in pleasure, both yours and mine."_

_He doesn't believe that Baal won't hurt him. He's played that game with Ishtar before, and it was always a lie. Yet, when he sees the ribbon device on the table, something flickers back to life in his chest in spite of what his mind warns. Maybe… maybe Baal's telling the truth. Maybe tonight will be different._

_In any case, there is nothing to gain from continued resistance._

_He indulges himself in draining the teacup before rising to his feet. He raises his eyes to look Baal in the face. "What would you have me do?" he asks simply._

_The answer turns out to be what he expects, but so much more as well. Baal teaches him what to do with surprising acceptance, never angry, sometimes even amused by his moments of ineptitude. But he also touches Asheron in return. He's nothing like Ishtar: not the sound of his voice or the smell of his skin or the very masculine feel of his body, hard where she is soft. The touch of his fingers, skillful and delicate, coaxes him past reflexive fear and the sharp memories of pain._

_It still takes time, but Baal never loses his patience, caressing the last tension away. The memories soon pass away, and all he can do is surrender to the moment._

_Asheron bites his lip to keep from crying out, his head back against the mattress. He can't stop thinking about what's happening. At first, it's strange, not quite comfortable, but nothing like the pain he's accustomed to feeling. Soon even the strangeness dissipates._

_He can't hide, pulled back into his body by the new sensations. There's a heavy feeling deep inside that anchors him in place. Genuine arousal flowers in him, filling him with desire and need. Nothing else matters anymore. Now all he wants is to finish, before it gets taken away from him._

_"I was right," Baal murmurs in his ear at some point, as Asheron clutches his shoulders in unvoiced demand. "Passionate."_

_He gasps on each inward push at the repeated touch of something that aches, yet the heat builds inside him. Something he thought died with Arvalle._

_"Please… please, don't stop," he begs hoarsely._

_"Never," Baal smirks in satisfaction before bending to cover his mouth with his own._

_By the end of the night, he feels exhausted and worn, but also more alive than he's felt in months. He feels like Asheron of Naritania again._

_When he returns to Ishtar, one look is all she needs. "Remember, my pet, you are mine."_

_His blood drips on the carpet, and his screams echo in the small chamber, until he begs her forgiveness. He means it, every word. But the only person's forgiveness he needs is Arvalle's._

_Because, as the Jaffa drag his failing body to the sarcophagus at last, Asheron knows that he will do it all again._

_* * * _

The memory faded and Asheron found himself looking down at the tea in his cup.

Malek was silent for a moment, and when he did speak in Asheron's mind, he seemed subdued. *_I am sorry, beloved, for all that you suffered.*_

_*I never suffered with him.*_

Malek didn't reply, but Asheron felt Malek's reluctance to agree, even though it was true. He had tried to forget that set of memories, but not because he had suffered.

Baal remembered the tea, also, that much was clear. He'd set up this entire encounter to echo their first meeting. Why? To evoke gratitude? Memories of automatic obedience?

If he wasn't angry any more, as he seemed not to be, then what did he want?

Asheron lifted his cup and cautiously sniffed the tea before taking a sip. Just because Baal drank the same tea didn't mean there wasn't something in the tea meant for both of them.

*_Nothing.*_ Malek said, after tasting it, but he was uneasy. *_I would prefer his anger to this… civility. This is disturbing.*_

*_Baal has always been disturbing_,* Asheron answered. It was true, and yet didn't begin to cover the tangled things he felt. Hate and disgust, gratitude and guilt, but also a strong thread of something like anticipation. Because it seemed that Baal still wanted what he'd always wanted.

Baal asked, lifting his brows in sardonic amusement, "You expect me to poison you?"

"Or _hek'tariv_ flower extract," Asheron answered dryly.

Baal laughed, but there was a glint in his eyes when he stopped. "You remember."

"I remember throwing up for a whole day." Asheron was sorry he'd mentioned it. Because of course, though Baal's attempt to use a Goa'uld aphrodisiac on him originally had been a poison, later with Malek, he'd taken it twice with predictable results. He dropped his eyes to his cup again, wishing he was anywhere else. Malek was right – torture was better than this. At least then he could just be stubborn and angry, but this mannered conversation forced him to be civil, since he didn't like to sound churlish. Which Baal knew very well, which was probably why he was doing this in the first place…

"I remember something quite different," Baal mused. Asheron felt the warmth rush to his face at the reminder and wished he'd stop reacting.

*_You must be careful,*_ Malek warned. *_He is doing this intentionally, to remind you of the past and to keep us off-balance. Stop him.*_

"Those days were long ago," Asheron said, as coolly and repressively as he could.

"Not that long. We came to an agreement --"

"Which you broke," Asheron pointed out. "Trying to keep us by force."

Baal straightened, some irritation in his face. "I did ask," he protested, as though the mere idea of asking was such a gift Asheron should have been content with it.

"Things are different now," Asheron said. "You're busy trying to conquer the galaxy. Not to mention," he lifted his eyes, letting out Malek's fury, "_You killed our people_."

"I am pleased you survived," Baal answered, ignoring his anger. "I instructed the Kull soldiers to bring you back to me, but when only two came back empty-handed, I didn't know whether you were alive or dead."

"Alive, no thanks to you. And my people are dead." This was good, Asheron thought. He could nurse Malek's hatred as a shield and keep himself safe.

"I am more one of your people than the cowardly Tok'ra ever were," Baal waved one hand in dismissal and leaned forward, looking at him intently. "You forget, Asheron -- I know you. How long did it take for you to be impatient with the incompetence of the Tok'ra leadership?" Baal demanded. "How long before you rose to be a leader among them? I was told five years. Was that true?"

Asheron didn't answer, but he didn't have to. It was less than five really, because he'd found power in the tunnels ridiculously easy to grab. Walking away from it had been hard, but necessary, to shed his memories of Asheron the Third, Ishtar, and Baal himself.

"You were born to rule," Baal continued. "You can't fool me that you were content with them, **or** with the Tau'ri, who squander your abilities and talent. I can offer you so much more."

Right, Asheron thought with a mental snort, as if any Goa'uld had any interest in sharing power_._ No, he knew that Baal wasn't really offering Asheron any sort of command position in his domain. That wasn't what he wanted. "You're wasting your time," Asheron retorted. "Trying to seduce me with promises of power. If there's anything I learned from that bitch Ishtar it was that power never lasts."

"If promises of power won't seduce you, what will?" Baal asked, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a knowing smirk.

*_Nothing_,* Malek answered in his head. *_Right? Asheron? Tell me there is nothing he can offer.*_

But for a moment Asheron couldn't answer, either Baal or Malek. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just say what Malek wanted him to? The answer was simple. Because there **was** something Baal could give him in exchange.

*_No,*_ Malek objected, knowing his thoughts even before Asheron articulated them. *_Asheron, this is a very bad idea_. _It was bad twenty years ago, and it will be worse this time.*_

_*If we can get Turan and Sam free, won't it be worth it?* _Asheron asked.

_*That is not your only reason,*_ Malek observed, in a calm, fortunately non-judgmental manner. *_You are confused, beloved. You believe he cares for you – but he does not, not truly. He seeks only to possess you. And you are grateful for the moments of pleasure he gave you in the midst of torment. But you were still his slave – would you return to that?*_

Asheron pushed back from the table and walked away from dark eyes that saw too deeply, and in vain hope of escaping the one in his head who knew him too well. Because Malek was right, and yet he was also wrong. There was possession in Baal and his thirst to acquire what kept eluding him, Asheron knew that. But there was also more that Malek didn't want to acknowledge. The Tok'ra refused to believe that the sarcophagus left the Goa'uld any capacity for love, and while Asheron was not so naïve as to believe Baal loved him, there was **something** there. If there wasn't, Baal had no reason not to just force him into compliance. Besides outright torture and rape, there were ways to manufacture willingness. H_ek'tariv_ flower extract was just the beginning, if all he wanted was Asheron in his bed.

*_So you will barter away our freedom, *_ Malek said, *_on the __**chance**_ _that he is not merely reflecting your desires back at you, to manipulate you? He is our enemy, Asheron. He killed the Tok'ra. He enslaves whole worlds, tortures and -- *_

_*I know_!* He was so frustrated it nearly came out aloud. *_I know.*_

*_Do you?* _Malek challenged._ *Do you know you have already decided to do this? To make this bargain?*_

Malek was right. He was going to do this. *_I have leverage, Malek. I have to use it to get our friends and Turan to safety.*_

*_Your 'leverage' is his obsession with you. He doesn't want your body, Asheron – or, rather, not only that – he wants your soul. If you do this, I fear he will have it. You are too willing to believe there is something in him to redeem, but there is nothing. He is evil, and dressing up in civil conversation and occasional acts of capricious mercy does not make him less evil._*

But now Asheron was getting angry. Telling him this wasn't helpful. *_Enough. We both knew this was inevitable when the bounty hunter recognized me. I will pay whatever price I must, to get Sam and Turan out of here, and so will you. But first, perhaps a test -- *_

Asheron plucked an antique porcelain vase from his homeworld from a niche, and threw it to the floor between him and Baal. It shattered into several glimmering shards on the tile, which slid to rest against Baal's boots.

Baal's hand snapped up from the table in a defensive motion, the ruby of the ribbon device glowing and ready. But he didn't activate it. He frowned when he realized Asheron was just standing there. "You disliked it?" he finally asked, brows arching.

Asheron folded his arms and curled a lip. "Cheap Kantaran fake."

"Was it? Really?" Baal glanced down at the shards with a little frown, then shook his head once to dismiss the distraction. He lowered his hand. "Perhaps, but I think you were hoping to provoke me into some rash action against you. If I feared for my life with a crazed Tok'ra tossing pottery at me and I threw you into the wall, you would feel justified in rejecting my offer. If so, I am sorry to disappoint you. I have no intention of causing you unwanted pain. I enjoy those demanding moans you make during pleasure much more." He smirked as Asheron had to look away, flushing in embarrassment. "You haven't answered my question."

Asheron hesitated. His stomach twisted into knots, as the moment stretched tight. Malek was silent, knowing further objection was useless.

"Freedom for my friends," Asheron said abruptly. "That is my price. They all go free, and I'll stay. Same terms as last time."

Baal smiled in pure delight, but the expression turned calculating. "The same? No, I think not. One week is not enough. I might still have to pay five million linars for the Tau'ri and Teal'c. I will let them go **if** you stay by my side until you die. Some hopefully long years hence," he added.

"No," Asheron shook his head once, but moved two steps closer to the table and to Baal. "They are my friends, but they wouldn't want that. One month."

"I doubt they want you to do this at all," Baal commented dryly. "They're very valuable – Teal'c alone has information about the Jaffa rebellion. Their capture will solidify my position as supreme once the others learn of it. You ask me to give up a great prize. Five years."

Asheron felt some relief, at least the term had come down from 'forever', despite what Baal said. He countered, "It's your decision how great a prize I am in exchange. Six months."

Baal stood and his eyes narrowed. "Now, you mock me. Two years. No less time than Ishtar."

That had the tone of finality. Asheron bit his lip and nodded. "Two years. But you will not attack Earth, or in any other way cause anyone else to attack the Tau'ri."

Baal let out a small, irritated sigh. "Not unexpected," he muttered, then raised his glance back to Asheron's face. "Accepted. But I reserve the right to kill any Tau'ri or other Tok'ra I find in my territory. They're still my enemies."

Asheron thought fleetingly of Sam, and hoped she would be wise enough to stay away. This was for nothing if she and Turan were captured again and killed. But he agreed. "Fine. But I will not assist in any way, or reveal their secrets."

"Agreed," Baal nodded. He moved closer, watching Asheron with interest with his head cocked to one side. "Your negotiating skills have improved since last time. Anything else?"

He might as well see how far he could push. More than twenty years as a Tok'ra had changed him too much to permit things to go back to how they'd been under Ishtar, even for Turan.

Asheron lifted his chin and folded his arms. "Yes. I will be bound by my word: I will not betray you, I will not try to kill you, and I will not leave unless you want me to. But I will not be your slave or your servant. I owe you no obedience. Not ever again."

Baal shook his head once, but surprisingly it was not to deny the wish to remain an equal. "If I grant all that, there is one thing you must do in exchange. You know what I want of you." His fingers reached out and very delicately caressed the side of Asheron's face and jaw, ending with his lips which he traced with a fingertip. Asheron stood very still under the touch, a shiver spreading across his skin.

"You must agree to share yourself freely, as you did before," Baal murmured. He hooked his forefinger just within Asheron's lower lip, "I have dreamed of you returning to me and the hours we would spend together. If you do not agree to become my mate, there is no agreement."

The desire in Baal's eyes was almost unbearable to see, a fire that would consume the merely mortal.

"I said the same terms, didn't I?" Asheron asked hoarsely barely able to speak. His heart was pounding and his mouth had gone dry. Mates? Goa'uld rarely took mates, as the Tok'ra did. It implied a relationship of more equality and commitment than most Goa'uld were willing to even pretend to have. In fact, Lord Yu and his queen were the only sworn mates among the system lords, so far as Asheron knew.

Baal smiled ever so faintly. "I want to hear you promise."

*_It means nothing_,* Malek reassured him. *_We are promised to Samantha. A promise under coercion means nothing.*_

*_We are not being coerced,*_ Asheron said. It was a bargain. Asheron was free to refuse, as long as he was willing to accept the consequences of refusal. Which he was not. Not when he had the means to free the hostages and protect Earth from Baal's conquests. So therefore if there was no coercion, this promise still meant something. While he was not one of those whose code of honor was unyielding, he also believed that he should not make promises he intended to break. Not even to a Goa'uld.

He thought of Sam with a sharp, twisting pain in his heart. The truth was, he was going to lose her either way. If he did this, he could never look at Sam again, knowing he would see the revulsion in her eyes. He felt an unexpected kinship with Jolinar suddenly, and understood why she had never wanted to tell Martouf of Netu.

Yet it didn't change the fact that he had to get them out of here, before Baal figured out who Sam's symbiote truly was. Turan was the future of the Tok'ra, and the Tau'ri needed Sam. He would pay a price worse than this to save them, even if he could never see them again. So he thought of Sam, silently bid her farewell, and very carefully boxed those memories of her and put them away.

His gaze met Baal's waiting dark eyes, which were gleaming with eagerness. He had to swallow hard to find his voice again. "I promise."

"Promise what?" Baal prompted.

"To be your mate," he drew in a deep breath. "To share myself freely with you, and you alone, for pleasure's sake, and to stay at your side until our agreement is finished." But just as Baal was looking very pleased with himself, Asheron added coldly, "And if you break the agreement again, I will finish what I started twenty years ago, and I **will** kill you."

But the promise didn't seem to bother Baal at all. He slid his hands down Asheron's arms, to hold his hands in both of his own. "I have what I want, I have no need to. In two years time, you will choose to stay with me. For my part, I promise to be your mate, to revere your body and soul above all others and to place you at my side, where you belong." He started to draw Asheron close. "Now that the tedious negotiating is done …"

"No," Asheron yanked free and stepped back. "Sam and Daniel and Teal'c go free first."

Baal held up both his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "As you wish. But you should come with me, to see them off."

Asheron knew it was a test of his intent. "All right."

"Then I will speak with R'zac." At the door, he turned back around, looking smug and eager. "You and I will do great things together, Asheron."

*_That is what I'm afraid of,*_ Malek muttered, returning sullenly to his head as Baal left.

*_We have an opportunity to infiltrate at the highest level of court,*_ Asheron reminded him. *_How can we not do it?*_

He went through the doors into the bedroom. Everything looked exactly as it had twenty-odd years ago. There was no sarcophagus here - that chamber was hidden beneath the temple and used only when Baal was injured - just the large bed and its wrought-iron canopy, small tables and two padded chairs, a hidden viewscreen inside the wooden wall unit, and a wide window overlooking the valley. Laid into the floor was a set of transport rings. Doors led to the bathing facilities, and another to the dressing room.

Asheron opened the latter, startling two of the lotars. They scrambled to their feet and bowed, trying to hide their confusion. "My lord?"

He smiled. "I need to change clothes." The smile fell away as he regarded the doors to the clothes closet. "I used to have a few things here. But that was ... a long time ago. Maybe there's something Baal hasn't worn or doesn't like?"

*_What are you doing?* _Malek asked in confusion. *_Why change clothes?*_

*_So he thinks he's won.* _ Now that the decision had been made, his mind was clear and fearless. He knew what he was doing.

One of the lotars hesitated, frowned, and then rooted around in the closet for a minute, looking for something. He came out with an outfit that Asheron recognized. "Is this it, my lord? Lord Baal ordered us to keep it clean and pressed, even though he doesn't wear it."

He stared at the deep green jacard coat and felt a new apprehension tightening his gut, as he realized he'd stepped into something deeper than he expected. "He kept it?"

*_I warned you, *_ Malek said. *_I'm afraid my attempt on his life only sealed his obsession. It isn't too late for us to escape with our friends.*_

For a moment, Asheron was tempted, but he pushed it away. *_No, this works to our advantage. He wants to believe me.*_

Malek would've sighed if he could. *_You want to believe yourself.*_

Asheron ignored his discontent, and with the lotar's help, he changed into the outfit that Baal had given him years ago. The tunic was snug across the shoulders and chest, since he'd gotten a bit more muscular over the years, but at least the trouser waist still fit. Slipping into the long, heavy, robe-like coat reminded him of his formal cape he'd worn on Naritania occasionally, and when he shrugged his shoulders, it fell into place perfectly with a comforting familiarity.

Returning to the sitting room, he waited until Jaffa came to escort him to meet Baal.

* * *

tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

oh yay! finally, it lets me upload. Sorry; there shouldn't be any more long delays.

again, heed the warnings. This is one of the more mature parts.

* * *

.

**Chapter Five**

Sam made desultory conversation with her friends in the other cells as an hour, then two, crawled past. It wouldn't have been so bad, if she didn't have the heavy feeling that Asheron was taking up Baal's attention, so SG-1 were all but forgotten. She stared down the hall, praying the door would open and the Jaffa would throw him into one of the cells.

She got half of her wish, when a full complement of Jaffa came through the door. But instead of bringing Asheron, they let Sam, Daniel, and Teal'c out, and escorted them through a maze of underground passageways. Daniel asked several times where they were going but got no answer.

They were herded up some stairs, outside, across a flagstone courtyard wide enough for a thousand Jaffa to muster, and through a set of double doors into a different hall. This one housed the Stargate.

"We're being set free?" she asked in astonishment. But again no one answered.

There were two Kull warriors there at the gate. Unnerved by the sight, Sam went willingly when the Jaffa herded her over to the side, not far from the DHD. The hall was impressively proportioned, with a high roof and an upper level walkway ringing the gate, where there were armored Jaffa on guard. Scarlet and black flags with Baal's sigil in gold hung down from the upper level, providing a bit of color in an otherwise stark space of stone walls and concrete floors. The room was cool, with cold air leaking in through the open doors and upper level windows.

Daniel again tried to get information from the Jaffa with no results. Sam wished he'd stop trying.

Finally, Baal appeared in the doorway, walking casually with his own escorts of two Kull behind him. To her surprise Asheron was at his side, unbound. He was dressed similarly to Baal, in pants, shirt, and a long coat in green and brown with gold embroidery at the high collars and draping cuffs. He looked like a Goa'uld, she realized with an inward shiver.

She looked at him intently, looking for signs of injury or drugs or **something**, but there was nothing. But his gaze refused to meet hers, staying fixed on the Stargate, so she didn't think he was a Goa'uld.

What was going on?

Baal stopped and announced, "You three should give thanks that Asheron was with you, Tau'ri. For his presence has spared your lives. You may leave and go where you wish."

"But what about Asheron?" she asked, casting an anxious glance at him. He still wouldn't look at her.

Baal smiled. "He stays here where he belongs. With me." His fingers touched Asheron's face, tracing his cheek and jaw and down the side of his neck. Asheron didn't move, and his eyes were dark and shuttered, revealing nothing.

Oh God. She realized then what Asheron had done -- traded his compliance for their freedom. She shook her head. "No, no, Asheron, you can't do this. You can't, don't do this -- "

His voice was cool and distant, with nothing of their relationship in it at all. "Take care of yourself and Anise, Samantha. Do not attempt any foolish rescue attempts, I know what I'm doing. Daniel, Teal'c, farewell." He nodded his head once at them and turned away.

"No!" she cried. "Asheron, no! Malek, don't let him do this!"

He didn't even hesitate, just walked away.

Baal's smile widened in satisfaction. "Go, Tau'ri. Before I change my mind."

Teal'c moved to the DHD and started dialing. Sam stared at Asheron's back, shocked. She'd hoped for a moment that it was a subterfuge, that he was planning an attempt on Baal and then an escape through the Stargate. But he was now at the doors, with one of the supersoldiers behind him.

"If I find any of you in my territory again, I will kill you all," Baal warned. "Asheron's presence buys you leniency only once. Get out of my sight."

"Come on, Sam," Daniel took her arm and started leading her to the open gate. Defeated, she followed, glancing back once to see Asheron's figure halfway across the courtyard outside. He had stopped and turned around, and he seemed to be watching them.

"We can't leave him here," she whispered urgently to Daniel just outside the event horizon.

"We don't have a choice," Daniel said, and pulled her in.

The transition was wrenching. She stepped out the other side, stumbling in her haste to get down the steps. "We have to go back."

Teal'c grabbed her shoulder. "Colonel Carter, you must not."

She shook herself free. "Teal'c, do you know what he's doing?" she demanded frantically. "He made a deal -- we go free in return for being Baal's plaything!"

Teal'c said, "Yes, he has chosen to be Baal's _zhi'lotar_ in return for our freedom. But did you not hear him call your symbiote Anise? He is still protecting the identity of Turan."

Teal'c was right, she realized, slumping. It wasn't about the three of them going free -- it was about saving the future for the Tok'ra race. She knew as well as anyone that Malek and Asheron both would sacrifice anything and everything for Turan's safety.

"Sam, it's not that bad," Daniel added, "Think about it. Now that we're gone, he doesn't have to worry about us, or us being used against him. I'm sure he's planning to kill Baal as soon as he gets the chance."

Sam gave him a look as she walked to the DHD and started dialing the Beta site to retrieve a GDO. "Baal knows that, Daniel. He's not going to give him the chance." She didn't have the whole picture but now she knew the general outlines as certain things made sense. She shut her eyes and added in a softer voice, "Don't you get it? They've done this before. Baal wants him back. That's why there was a huge bounty for Asheron to be alive, and nothing if he was dead. Asheron served him when Ishtar was alive."

_'Served'_ was such a polite way of saying it, she reflected absently. Or even the Goa'uld term, _zhi'lotar_. Trust the Goa'uld to come up with a special term for the human slave who served the Goa'uld's sexual appetites. She shuddered -- she remembered what Bynarr had wanted from Jolinar, and she doubted that any Goa'uld was all that different. Sex and pain were very much bound together for them.

"He never even said he met Baal," Daniel objected.

"And that should have been our first clue," she snapped, but far more angry at herself than Daniel. "We always knew Baal was Ishtar's army commander, before she died. Asheron was her captive for two years. They **had** to have met." She felt like kicking herself. Looking back, she could recognize how he'd avoided questions, lied by omission and filtered his knowledge through Malek. He'd never let anyone get close to his secret that he'd been Baal's toy, too.

Even on Kichlor's ship, she hadn't guessed the truth, thinking that he was upset only because he was afraid of being punished for Malek's attempt on Baal long ago, when he'd had more than his share of Goa'uld torture already under Ishtar. It had never occurred to her that they already knew each other, or that Baal would want to do anything but torture Malek to death over and over.

So now she knew how wrong she had been, and there was nothing she could do to save him.

* * *

Sam stepped through the gate to home and her footsteps paused in surprise at the changes. The gateroom was dim, lit only by the emergency lights. There were heavily armed SF's with their weapons pointed at the ramp, which made her frown, since they'd given their IDC. There shouldn't be this much security.

O'Neill's voice came over the PA, "Stand down." She glanced up at the briefing room, barely able to see through the window at O'Neill, who gestured for her to stay put before he went out of sight.

She and the guys waited at the bottom of the ramp, as the guards went to at ease. O'Neill and her dad came in.

O'Neill gave the three of them exaggerated head-to-toe visual exams. "Well, you look okay. I admit I was expecting your arrival to be a little more dramatic..." he trailed off suggestively, eyebrows up.

"Dramatic, sir?" she asked, in confusion.

"You know, gunfire, running… not like you were out for a stroll."

She looked to Jacob to tell her what was going on, since O'Neill wasn't.

He explained, "Twelve hours ago we received a holographic visit from Baal. He claimed you were his prisoners, and he wanted Camulus in exchange."

"Told him I'd have to think about it. He gave a deadline, but then he didn't call back. Very rude," O'Neill added, and then gave a little shrug. "Apparently it was just a bluff."

"No," Daniel said. "He let us go."

O'Neill blinked and shook his head as if to clear it, before frowning at Daniel. "I'm sorry, Daniel, I thought I heard you say, Baal let you go."

"He did," Sam confirmed, and her gaze went to her dad. "Except Asheron and Malek. They cut a deal -- Asheron stayed behind and Baal let us go."

O'Neill turned serious and thoughtful, frowning at her news. "Baal gave up you three, **plus** Camulus, for Malek? Why? Because he's a Tok'ra?"

She exchanged a glance with Daniel. "That's part of it," she answered, and then looked at the guards, hoping he got the hint that this was a little too public. She didn't want to tell this part at all, but she wasn't going to hide information from her CO or her dad.

O'Neill got the message. "All right. Briefing room in thirty. You guys go get checked out. Meanwhile, I'll go see how Doctor Lee's doing with the plant. You don't happen to know a lot of botany, do you, Carter?" he squinted at her hopefully.

A plant? She shook her head, a little amused. "No, sir. Sorry."

He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay. A general's work is never done."

"No kidding," Jacob muttered.

"Gotta go. Glad to see you're all back," O'Neill offered at the last minute, before he was out the door.

She opened her mouth to protest the "all" but he was already gone.

Jacob looked at her. "Sam?" In his voice was all his concern, for her and for Malek and Asheron. "I won't make you run through it twice, but just tell us, is Baal going to kill Malek?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so." She took a breath and added, after clearing her throat, "Not quickly, anyway."

Her dad nodded in sad understanding, and squeezed her shoulder. "We'll get him back, Sam."

She tried to take some comfort from that promise, even though she felt frozen inside with dread.

* * *

They gathered in the briefing room a little while later. It was strange, sitting in the near dark, but she was glad of it all the same.

O'Neill came in from his office and shut the door. "Okay," he plopped down in the seat. "Eventually we'll get that stupid plant killed. Although it makes me realize how damn lucky we got under Hammond." Realizing what he said, he shot a glare at Jacob. "Don't even say it, Selmak."

Beside her, Jacob gave him a wide-eyed innocent look as if he would never say such a thing.

O'Neill put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "So. Spill. What the hell happened out there?"

He looked at Sam, but she couldn't find her voice at first. Thankfully Daniel started, and told the story of their mission being a bounty hunter's trap, and the two day trip to Baal's homeworld of Saphon. He went on, "During the trip, Malek said -- well, actually Asheron said -- that Malek had stabbed Baal and escaped, and that's why the bounty was so high."

"He did," Jacob confirmed unexpectedly. "After Baal had solidified his position as Ishtar's successor, Malek attempted to infiltrate his court." He paused, listening to Selmak, and added with a frown, "Malek and Garshaw were insistent, though the council didn't know Asheron was already known to Baal or they wouldn't have approved it. In any case, I'm afraid Malek is a rather poor Goa'uld, and if he relied too much on Asheron's mannerisms... well, it's no wonder Baal fingered them as Tok'ra so quickly." he shrugged. "They were captive two weeks, and managed to stab Baal in their escape. Obviously he got better."

"Wait," Sam said, in shock, "are you saying _**Asheron**_ was Malek's host when Malek tried to kill Baal?" Her father nodded, looking confused by her reaction. She looked down at the table at her hands, and then shut her eyes as the last piece fell into place.

_**That**_ had been the bargain Baal broke. Baal had discovered Asheron was a Tok'ra, they'd made the same arrangement, and then Baal broke it somehow, forcing Malek to stab him and escape. No wonder Asheron hadn't gone into detail.

O'Neill put in. "This is all fascinating but this was something like twenty years ago. How is it relevant, Daniel?"

"Because it explains why, when we got to Saphon, Baal more or less ignored us. He demanded to speak with Asheron, and he seemed angry. He was going to cut his throat right then, but he stopped. He ordered us put in our cells, and I was sure he was going to go torture Asheron and Malek. We cooled our heels for a few hours, and then the Jaffa came, took us out of our cells, and brought us to the gate. Baal told us that Asheron's presence had bought our freedom and we had to leave."

"Oo-kay," O'Neill frowned and shook his head. "So he was angry at Malek. But why would that bastard let go of three high cards like you guys? I mean, c'mon, **Teal'c**, Mr. Shol'va Himself," he waved in Teal'c's direction. "So what deal could Malek possibly offer that would counter that? There aren't any Tok'ra left for him to sell out, even if he wanted to."

Daniel exchanged a look with Sam, neither able to explain.

O'Neill watched this and exclaimed in frustration, "I get there's something more and nobody wants to talk about it, but I still don't know what the hell's going on. What makes him so damn important?"

Teal'c was the one to finally say it, "Asheron agreed to be Baal's _zhi'lotar_ in exchange for our freedom."

Beside her she heard her dad let out a soft breath of dismay. He knew what the term meant.

O'Neill looked at him, "His what? 'lotar' is a human slave, right?"

Daniel put on his scholar hat and said in a very neutral tone, "_Zhi_ is slang for _zhir'kallen, _"physical or bodily pleasure."" He paused and added with an uncomfortable shrug, "Sex, basically."

O'Neill's eyes widened and he thumped back in his chair, looking shocked and disgusted. "Oh. Eww. Just when I think I know everything horrible about the Goa'uld, there's more. So torture isn't enough, he's going to get off on… " he stopped, glanced at Sam and cleared his throat. "Right. It's bad. So, how do we get him out?"

Sam was surprised. "Out?" she blurted. "You want to rescue him?"

O'Neill gave her a hurt look. "Carter, I know Asheron's not exactly my golfing buddy, but I've been a guest at Baal's hotel and I'm not leaving one of my people there."

She was relieved. She knew she should know better, since O'Neill felt very strongly about leaving people behind, but there'd been that niggling question whether he thought Asheron was "one of his."

Reluctantly, Jacob spoke up, "It's not going to be easy. We'll need intel, from the Jaffa," he glanced at Teal'c, "since there aren't any Tok'ra in Baal's ranks anymore. Baal moves around a lot, from his ships to Tartarus and Saphon. If he drags Malek along with him, it's going to be tough to plan any sort of op at all."

"Should we?" Daniel asked, speaking slowly. "One of the last things Asheron said to us, was that he knew what he was doing and he didn't want anyone to rescue him."

"With Baal and drones and twenty Jaffa standing right there!" Sam exclaimed, "What else was he going to say?"

"He didn't have to say anything," Daniel pointed out, with an apologetic look at her. "Look, I'm not saying we shouldn't rescue him. But I think we should weigh the possibility that he has a plan. Like you said, Jacob, we've got few resources inside Baal's empire. What if he's trying to do that? After all, he ran a rebellion right under Ishtar's and Baal's nose for at least a year. Maybe he thinks he can do it again."

"Maybe he does," Jacob allowed after a moment. "But how can it work? The fact is, Baal knows Asheron and Malek. That's the whole problem, isn't it? He knows what they're capable of, so he's not going to give them that sort of opportunity. Baal's many things, but he's not a fool. Besides, who would Malek pass intel **to**? Baal's inner circle is extremely loyal -- his lotars worship the ground he walks on, and his few minor Goa'uld underlings have been with him centuries. And I doubt any of his close Jaffa leaders are connected to the rebels."

Everyone looked at Teal'c who gave a nod. "Indeed. Though we have had some success with his foot soldiers, I have heard of little with his commanders. His First Prime R'zac has executed at least five known sympathizers of our cause personally. However, I see no reason why a loyal member of the rebellion could not gain brief access, long enough to receive intelligence."

Sam listened to them and thought it was interesting, but it had nothing to do with reality. She had to tell the truth. "There's no plan," Sam said, looking down at her hands. "I think he did it to make sure Turan got away. There's nothing he wouldn't do to protect her. And me." She shrugged a little, wishing the ache in her chest would let her breathe.

"He's already done this," she reminded them, more softly. "I'm sure to his mind, better that he go through it again, than one of us. He kept trying to get Kichlor to leave the rest of us with Morrigan and go on to Baal alone. And we -- I -- kept stopping him. I didn't understand."

God, she should have done what he wanted. She and Turan had been hostages, and Baal hadn't even had to threaten them overtly to control Asheron. When she told him not to give in to threats against her, she hadn't understood she was asking the impossible when Turan was a part of her.

Her dad put his hand over hers and squeezed. Grateful for the support she glanced up at him. "We won't leave him there," he promised.

She nodded, trying to take strength from the promise, but she was bleakly certain it wasn't going to be easy. Even if they managed to rescue him, it might be too late. Asheron had sold his soul to the devil, and the devil wasn't going to want to give it back.

* * *

Asheron waited in the sitting room, standing beside the window and looking out at the mountains that surrounded Baal's primary fortress. The pose was casual, but he was feeling anything but. In moments Baal was going to come back and he was going to want their agreement … consummated. Asheron had agreed and he intended to do it, but now that the moment was upon him, he was tense and nervous and ill.

*_We don't have to go through with this,* _Malek said. *_Now that our friends are safe, we can refuse.*_

*_No.*_

_*We can. He holds no hostages now, only us. We need not surrender to him.*_

*_So then we prove we have no honor?*_ Asheron returned. *_We make ourselves just as bad?*_

_*We win no points for honor --"_

_*We win no points for pretending to a virtue I don't have, either,*_ Asheron told him sharply. *_I've done this before, Malek. I can do it again." _The flash of angerdisappeared as quickly as it had come and he pulled in a deep breath, reaching for calm. _*I know how to give him what he wants.*_

Malek was doubtful._ *To what end? _

_*To get in his inner circle. Gather intelligence. Stop atrocities. I can have influence.*_

Malek hesitated and Asheron had the vague sense of Malek closer, nosing around in his emotions at a level he usually preferred to stay back from._ *There is a measure of self-justification in that,* _he told Asheron eventually.

Asheron returned with weary frustration, *_What do you want from me? I would much rather gain something by surrender, than have him take what he wants by force. And if he's really angered by my refusal, he might start in that same-old, boring cycle of torture and death and sarcophagus.* _He was trying to keep his mental tone light, but both of them could feel the old terror beneath it, like a black tar bubbling closer to the surface and clinging to every thought.

It was far more subdued that he continued, *_I can't go through that again. You know it, too. I don't think even you would be able to put all the pieces back together.*_

Malek sent love and apologies to him, helping push the fear back down. But it was not gone, and both of them knew it. *_I am sorry, beloved. You are right. I did not consider that.*_ He didn't verbalize the rest of his thoughts, but Asheron heard them anyway. Baal knew about that fault line in Asheron's mind, because he'd been the one to build a bridge across it. That 'bridge' was in fact part of the problem now, because it made Asheron less willing to see Baal for the evil he was. Intellectually he knew, but his heart remembered strong arms holding him and patient fingers caressing him to pleasure, reminding him that he was more than just a suffering animal.

Asheron felt Malek's revulsion at the thought of lying with the hated Goa'uld who had murdered the rest of his brothers and sisters of the Tok'ra. Surrendering to that enemy went against his every instinct, though he also knew Asheron was going to do it anyway.

*_You should sleep,*_ Asheron suggested. *_Then you don't have to watch.*_

Malek was horrified. *_And leave you alone with him? Never.*_

Asheron was grateful for the support, but it didn't really make any sense. *_Malek, your hatred for him is going to make what I have to do even harder,*_ Asheron said. *_I already feel enough like a whore. I don't need to struggle against your feelings, too.*_

Malek paused and asked uncertainly, *_Are you certain? I feel as though I should not leave you. You are in danger, beloved, whether you believe it or not. I should not abandon you while you are in danger.*_

Asheron was a little amused by that. *_It's not as though you're actually going anywhere, you know. You'll just be asleep. If I need you awake, I know what to do. Please, dear friend, sleep,* _he requested_. *I know you don't approve, but I have to do this.*_

Malek gave in, as Asheron knew he would._ *As you wish. But remember, if you need me -- at any moment -- wake me. I will stir myself in a little while to check on you.*_

They bid each other good night and Asheron felt Malek's withdrawal and then the final absence as sharply as if a door had closed between them, leaving him outside and alone in the cold dark. He staggered forward into the window embrasure, clutching the sill with both hands.

It had been so long since they'd done this. He tried to remember back to the days before he had been blended, to find his own self again, but all he could think about was how **alone** he felt suddenly, as though the wind might pluck him from the window and dash him to the rocks below and there would be nothing to stop it.

He leaned forward, through the window into the chill air, fixing his gaze rather desperately on the surrounding mountains. *_I am not alone. Malek is still here, he's just sleeping,*_ he tried to tell himself. But the lack of another presence made his spirit doubt it. He felt … empty.

An amused voice came from behind him, "If you throw yourself from the window, I'll have you put in a sarcophagus and brought back to me," Baal said, and Asheron didn't think he was kidding at all.

But neither was Asheron. His skin prickled at the word, and dark tendrils crept up into his chest. He stared at the high snow-covered peaks, pushing away the memories. "If you put me in a sarcophagus, I will see you dead," he said, in cold promise.

There was a pause behind him, and he heard Baal move closer to him across the porcelain tile. "You mean that," he observed, without surprise. "Even to save your life?"

His fingers tightened on the sill. "Never again."

"You have had more than your share," Baal observed with a touch of dry humor. "But I can't say I'm… displeased you're still alive."

His hand settled on Asheron's shoulder and slid down his arm. Asheron's shoulders twitched at the touch and a tingle ran through his torso, settling in the pit of his stomach.

He swallowed, took a deep breath and turned to face his… his mate. His stomach seized up on sight of the Goa'uld and the anticipatory gleam in his eyes.

"I wasn't going to throw myself from the window. Malek went… to sleep," he admitted.

Baal smiled a little. "He abandoned you?" He had dropped the Goa'uld vibrato, but it made his voice sound more like a purr. "I'm not surprised."

"It was my idea," Asheron protested. "He hates you. It would get in the way."

"So you don't hate me? That's a good start." Baal asked and reached out to touch his face with both hands resting on his cheeks and then combed his fingers back through Asheron's hair slowly, as he moved forward. One hand curled around the back of Asheron's neck to hold him still. "You do not know how much I have wanted this," he murmured before his mouth touched Asheron's.

He couldn't help his reflexive stiffening; it felt so wrong. His traitorous mind flashed a memory of Sam's soft lips on his, not the touch of facial hair. Baal pulled back a little. "Relax," he coaxed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. Sorry," Asheron murmured. "It's been a long time."

"Not that long. I remember everything." Perhaps to prove that he really did, he moved in again but this time to the side and placed a soft kiss in exactly the right spot under Asheron's ear. He shivered, feeling it down to his feet. He could feel Baal smile against his neck, and his voice sent the tingle down his body again when he spoke, "You see? I remember."

The worst part was that Asheron was now remembering too. Whenever Ishtar let him go, he went eagerly, even knowing that she would punish him more harshly when he came back to her. But it didn't matter, because the time was always worth it. He had never been strong enough to resist the respite that Baal offered.

He had spent the last thirty years trying to forget what he had done, embracing his guilt and choosing a solitary life. Until Sam.

But with Baal's mouth on his again, he couldn't help but remember. It felt exactly the same.

The hand slid around his waist to his back and swiftly down. He flinched when Baal's hand rounded his ass, and gasped a little with surprise. Taking advantage of the opening, Baal deepened the kiss hungrily, pulling Asheron forward until their lower bodies came together.

Baal's tongue slipped past his lips and sought to re-learn his mouth. Asheron let him, not yet able to find the return feeling in himself. Baal's hands roamed freely over his clothes, but he soon pulled back with an irritated groan. "Too many clothes."

"You gave it to me."

"This suits you." His hands started working the front buttons. "But it would suit me better to have you wear nothing."

As he worked, he captured Asheron's mouth with his again, open and demanding, pulling back with Asheron's lower lip caught between his. He let go only to move in and kiss his neck, dragging his tongue across the sensitive spot to feel Asheron shiver.

He pushed the coat and opened tunic off his shoulders and down his arms. Asheron helped him, pulling his hands free so the whole thing could fall to the floor. This left him bare above the waist, and Baal took his time looking. The dark fire of his eyes and the damping of his lips with his tongue was enough to tell Asheron that he was still desirable. But Baal said, "You look stronger. More muscular. I like it." He ran approving fingers across the top of Asheron's shoulders and back in along his collarbone and then down the middle of his chest.

Asheron shrugged slightly, aware of the fingers now caressing down his belly to the top of his pants. His stomach muscles tightened and he couldn't help leaning into the touch. "I exercised whenever I was bored on Earth."

Baal smirked, his hands moving up again, across his ribs to trace the muscles of his chest. "Then I am grateful to the Tau'ri for wasting your talents."

Asheron tensed in anticipation as Baal brushed his nipples with his fingertips. His breath hitched, and Baal looked amused. "Not so long ago, I think," he murmured. "You still respond to my touch, even when your brain is trying to tell you not to."

He did it again, the touch was sending a little charge of excitement through him. Baal was right, he didn't want to be played so easily, but he couldn't help it. Asheron kissed him to shut him up, and still the hands remained.

He put his hands on Baal's shoulders, intending to push him back. He had forgotten what it felt like to touch the firm muscle, so unlike the more gracile and delicate feel he had grown used to. The touch sent a jolt straight to his groin, of surprise and pleasure as a more distant memory returned in all its glory, of this beautiful hard body on his.

He gasped into Baal's mouth and Baal took advantage, thrusting his tongue deep. This time Asheron answered, and felt Baal shudder when he probed Baal's mouth himself, even while his hands clutched at Baal's clothes, trying to get inside the openings.

He pulled the tunic open and shoved it out of the way, forcing Baal to let go so he could remove it. The Goa'uld smiled for that one moment they stood apart, half-clothed. "The bed is this way," he indicated with a graceful motion of his arm.

Bed. Last time, they'd noticed that Asheron also being a host gave him stamina equal to the Goa'uld's. There had been several nights of that week when they'd barely slept, taking delight in each other several times. Asheron shivered, reminded that this was what he had bargained for. He was quivering inside, with anticipation and fear all mixed together. Not that he was afraid that Baal would hurt him, but it had been so long…

In the bedroom, after the door closed, Baal slipped out of his boots, and when he straightened, he had a knife in his hand, which he set on the table. His glance at Asheron was challenging, so Asheron looked at it. The knife was long and narrow, with a black and silver hilt. His gaze flew up to meet Baal's, shocked by recognition. He'd been a little too busy being defiant to notice which knife had been at his throat before. "Is that--? You kept it?"

"Very sentimental, I know," he admitted, with a wry twist of his mouth. "I had intended to kill you with it." He deliberately stepped far enough away that Asheron could have picked it up.

But Asheron stayed where he was. "I'm not going to take it," he said. "As long as you keep your end of the agreement, I'll ..." he hesitated, his gaze slipping down the bare chest, and he had to swallow before finishing, "keep mine."

Baal raised a hand and beckoned him closer. "Good. Because I have only one desire right now, to make you forget how to say anything but my name."

Baal's quick eyes noted the shift of his stance and his hand slid down the front of Asheron's pants. "Yes," he murmured. "I remember this."

The touch was a maddening tease behind all the fabric. Asheron pulled backward, until his leg touched the edge of the bed, and then let himself fall backward, pulling Baal down on top of him.

As skin brushed skin, and knowing fingers found familiar pleasure points, Asheron shut out anything outside this moment. There was no past, only the present of slick sweat under his hands. The terrible emptiness inside him from Malek's absence was, for a moment, filled with an old-familiar surrender as the pleasure touched him deeply. When Baal brought him to the edge again and again, there was not even the present - his universe shrank to need and want and Baal's dark eyes flaring when they came together.

As his breathing and heart rate settled into a more normal rhythm and the fog of pleasure dissipated, he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling.

The silence.

Even when he listened, focused all his attention, he heard nothing but himself and the quiet breathing beside him.

Baal ran a lazy hand up his leg to his hip. After a moment he said, "If you are still capable of such serious thought, then perhaps I should try again."

Lips twitching in amusement, Asheron answered, "I'm not thinking. Only enjoying the quiet."

"So Malek didn't wake for us?" Baal asked, adding sarcastically, "and I was so looking forward to his commentary."

Asheron nudged him with an elbow. He missed Malek, but the absence of Ishtar's malicious presence was a relief. "I'd forgotten," he said aloud, "how you make everything quiet."

The hand caressing his thigh paused briefly, and Asheron wondered if Baal understood what he meant. He'd witnessed nightmares about Ishtar before. But he didn't comment on that, rolling over onto Asheron, to look down into Asheron's face and said in a voice rich and deep with promise, "I forget nothing."

It was a sharp contrast with Asheron who wanted to forget so much. But as Baal's mouth returned to his again, Asheron thought that perhaps some of the past was worth remembering.

* * *

tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Asheron found himself circling the sitting room for a second time, and forced himself to stop at the window. It was raining outside, and the heavy clouds hid the mountains from view and made the valley look dark and foreboding. He leaned into the window to find out if he could see the Stargate hall, but it was out of sight around the corner. There were gardens down below, but he didn't want to get wet. It just emphasized that he had nowhere to go and nothing to do while Baal was gone.

Sure he had said he owed no obedience, but didn't he just fall in with whatever Baal wanted when he showed up anyway? At least bedding him was something to do, and lords knew, it felt good. Baal was never sparing in returning the favor.

But the situation was really no different from being at the SGC. He was still in a cage. A plush cage with pleasurable amenities, but a cage nonetheless.

He couldn't do this for two years. He wasn't even going to make it a fortnight unless he figured out some distractions. Already he wondered which of the lotars were wavering and which of the Jaffa were secretly with the rebellion. He would have to be extremely careful and slow, and let people come to him. But he would eventually be able to build a circle of contacts and from that he could build a network. When it grew strong enough, he could turn it into a weapon.

Let Baal think he was content as his _zhi'lotar_. Though he needed to get some occasional outside thing to do, since he knew Baal would never believe complete capitulation. Maybe he should ask Baal to play senet against him again. That would suggest he simply wanted Baal's company, even in a non-sexual way. It would feed Baal's ego, and might in turn let him relax the subtle watchers.

As if thinking about him had conjured his presence, the door opened and Baal entered. He saw Asheron by the window and he smiled slowly, his gaze leisurely and hot as he made Asheron all too aware that he hadn't bothered to put on a shirt earlier.

"I had intended to give you this," he held up a PTD and tossed it without looking on one of the couches. "But I find the view distracting."

Only a little dryly, Asheron answered, "I aim to please."

But the words seemed to catch something in Baal, who frowned and seemed to consider something. "You do, don't you? You were very firm in your determination to not be my _zhi'lotar_. Where did that go?"

Asheron raised his brows, smiling a little. "Good sex?"

"Yes, of course," Baal said, with that easy arrogance. "But you were not so taken before." He folded his arms and regarded Asheron with suspicion. "You are planning something."

Asheron rolled his eyes, to cover his flicker of guilt. "No, I can't be planning anything when I have nothing to do. Play senet with me? I miss a competent player."

Baal looked pleased. "Yes. You played well as I recall. But not now. I suspected you were growing bored, so I brought this." He picked up the PTD again and brought it over to Asheron. "You could use your Tok'ra intelligence analysis skills and determine which of these two conflicting reports I should believe. And you may also suggest a course of action."

"Oh, really? You'll let me?" Asheron retorted sarcastically, not willing to let that condescension stand unchallenged. "How about you tell me what you already plan to do, so I don't waste my time giving you advice you won't hear?"

"I will hear you," Baal promised. "I do take advice, Asheron."

Asheron snorted skeptically, but he took the device and turned it on, curious in spite of himself. He settled into the armchair to read. There were, as Baal had said, two reports, which boiled down to a question of whether Yu had moved the bulk of his fleet toward a world called Eridai, which was located outside Baal's current territory, or the main part of Yu's fleet was already four light-years inside his territory, gathering at an unoccupied and valueless system.

There seemed no obvious way to authenticate either without scouting the systems in question. He raised his head to frown at Baal, who had taken up the couch, with a drink handed to him by one of his more circumspect lotars. "I wouldn't believe either. I'd send scouts to both places."

Baal snorted. "So like a Tok'ra. Give my enemy time to build up his fleet at either location? No." He leaned forward. "Stop thinking like a Tok'ra. What would Asheron do?"

"Send scouts," he retorted with a smile. When Baal shoved himself back with a frustrated groan, Asheron added, "I'm not suggesting you have to send a tel'tak. Send a ha'tak, fully shielded, to each place. You can spare two. If they find something they can destroy, then they can. If they don't find anything, then you know. If they find a large fleet, then they call for reinforcements."

"And I should answer this invasion of my territory with one ha'tak?" Baal demanded, in outrage, and narrowed his eyes, "Allow Yu to think that he intimidates me? No, that I will not do."

"If you want to send your whole fleet after a phantom, go ahead. But don't you think that will look even more foolish, chasing something that's not even there?" Asheron returned.

Baal drew himself up, angry and offended, "You dare --"

Asheron tossed the PTD on the floor, cutting him off. He was irritated, too. "Fine, you don't want my advice, then I won't give it. I had to play these games with Ishtar, to find the right answer to please her. I'm not playing again. Do whatever the hell you want -- you will anyway."

His gaze met Baal's boldly, though not without an inward flutter of anxiety. He was provoking him deliberately, and he knew it, but he needed to draw a line somewhere. He had to find the boundaries to whatever this was.

At first, Baal was tense and angry, and Asheron could see the instinct to strike out at the offense roll through his whole body. Asheron waited, to see what would happen -- either they found a new boundary or Baal would retreat to the comfortable realm of zhi'lotar relations and put him back in his place.

Then Baal relaxed, letting out a breath as he eased back against the sofa.. "There you are," he raised his brows in sardonic amusement. "I had wondered where you'd gone in the last week."

Asheron didn't believe for a second that it had been a test. "Don't ask for my advice if you're just going to get angry at me. If I'm your mate, then I can argue without being afraid of you. If I'm your zhi'lotar then tell me that, and I know what to do."

"Afraid of me?" He repeated and frowned. Standing, he folded his arms, paced to the window and back to stand in front of Asheron's chair. "You are not afraid of me," he said, as though the idea was absurd. "Even when you thought I would kill you, you were not fearful."

Baal was really missing the point. "After two years of Ishtar, not to mention thirty as a Tok'ra, do you really think I'd show you that? Credit me with some self-control."

"What do you fear I would do to you? Have I ever hurt you?" he demanded.

Asheron shook his head once. "No."

"So then why would you believe that I would?" he asked, sounding truly frustrated and confused.

Asheron thought about that, deciding to give Baal an honest answer. "Because you can," he answered. "And I don't know how much I can -- how much I'm _allowed_ to argue and fight -- before you take offense and turn on me. With Ishtar I knew, but with you, I don't."

"I am _not_ Ishtar," Baal exclaimed. "I would never do to you what she did."

"Why not?" Asheron returned. "I know you've done it before. So it's not that you won't do it all."

"Tell me, Asheron, if I hurt you, will that break our agreement?"

"Of course."

Baal nodded as if that explained everything. "So then why would I do that? I have what I want. And I avoid what I don't want as well, which is you and Malek united in an effort to kill me." He laughed once, with a little bitterness. "You are more powerful than you think. Do you believe I have no concerns that either you or Malek are biding your time, waiting to betray me?"

Asheron lowered his head, frowning, thinking it through. Baal had an equal concern, didn't he? After all, what they'd shared had been a long time ago, and in the meantime Asheron had become a Tok'ra, and been friendly with the Tau'ri, who were both Baal's enemies. It came down to trust, really. They didn't, and maybe they couldn't fully trust each other, because of what they were.

"I gave you my word," he reminded Baal softly. "I meant it. Malek's not awake, but he went dormant because he knew I would abide by it."

"I believe you. That is the only reason you're here," Baal said. His hands covered Asheron's and pulled him to his feet, chest to chest with him. "I will send one ha'tak to each system to scout them," he murmured. Asheron knew that was as much apology as he was going to get, but he took it for the gift that it was.

"I have what I want," Baal murmured, his touch possessive as his hands stroked Asheron's shoulders and back. "You need not fear anything while I have you."

A soft whisper in the back of his mind wondered if it hadn't been a test after all. But Baal's mouth covered his, and Asheron kissed him back, and the whisper was overwhelmed by the sensation of the warm hands and the eager lips.

* * *

Malek stirred himself out of dormancy. It was a slow process, re-establishing and re-activating connections to Asheron's brain.

Asheron was deeply asleep, untroubled by bad dreams, and Malek was pleased that his host was finally sleeping peacefully.

But then he realized why Asheron was sleeping so well. His body was filled with the remnants of adrenaline and endorphins and other hormones, causing a relaxation and lassitude. That, combined with specific aches informed Malek of exactly what Asheron had been doing.

The feel of a leg on his and easily found memories of Baal and Asheron, were unnecessary and unwelcome confirmation.

Revulsion swept through Malek, especially the touch of Baal's skin touching his own. Malek twitched and wanted to jerk his leg out from under Baal's, but a quick glance showed him sleeping and Malek didn't want to wake him. He eased his leg free and then rolled on to his side.

Now was the perfect opportunity. Baal was asleep, right next to him. If he could find a weapon, he could finish what he had tried to do twenty years ago.

And there, on the bedside table was the very same knife that he had stabbed Baal with. He wondered why it was there, but a quick scan of Asheron's memory showed that it was a test -- Baal had left it there for Asheron to reject.

_You should have taken his invitation, beloved, _he thought to Asheron._ But I will do what you cannot._

Lifting himself on one elbow, he grabbed for the hilt with his other hand. The moment his fingers wrapped it, a quiet voice at his back said, "Malek."

Malek's hand twitched and he froze, hand clenching on the knife.

Sounding neither sleepy nor angry, Baal went on, "I've wondered how long you would need to wake up and attack me, Tok'ra."

Malek imagined himself flipping over and stabbing Baal in the heart. If he was fast enough... But the fantasy dissolved against the reality that Baal, awake and prepared, would fight back and the outcome was not certain.

Sounding satisfied, Baal added, "You waited too long."

Malek frowned and his shoulder-blades twitched, feeling Baal's eyes willing him to turn and look at him. So Malek refused, staring at the knife still fixed in his hand.

But he had to respond, "Any time is a good time to kill you."

"Is it?" Baal retorted. "Would Asheron agree? He told me he didn't approve when you tried it before."

"He's confused," Malek answered, tightly. "But he would understand."

"Really." The bed shifted as Baal moved and Malek refused to turn and see what he was doing. His voice sounded as if he was sitting up, "Tell me, Malek -- which one of us gives him peace? Which one of us keeps the memory of Ishtar at bay?"

The implication infuriated Malek. Asheron didn't have nightmares about Ishtar here, because this **_creature_ **had twisted him up inside, pretending to an affection he didn't -- couldn't -- feel.

Malek got to his knees and turned, knife in his hand. "Because you led him into a lie," he hissed, "manipulating him, trying to possess him. It's nothing but a power game to you -- you want to destroy him as surely as Ishtar did, in a different way."

Baal was already upright, but he straightened and his dark eyes burned. "Never."

"He's too trapped in the past to see, but I do. I always have, from the days when I watched him disappear into your chambers. Twisting him around -- making him dependent -- "

"I gave him what he needed!" Baal exclaimed, and for an instant Malek thought he might be sincere.

Then he laughed once. ""Gave"?" he repeated with harsh sarcasm. "You don't _**give**_ anything."

"Who was it who taught him how to bear someone else's touch? Who was it who showed him pleasure again?" he returned sharply. "Not you."

"For yourself!"

Baal chuckled scornfully. "I have twenty lotars who would throw themselves in my bed if I wished it. You overestimate his appeal."

"Exactly. We're here, because we escaped from you last time and you can't endure having one of your **possessions** leave you. Don't pretend you were doing Asheron a favor or you were giving him anything. Because you didn't. I have been here, night after night, for the past thirty **years **trying to undo what you and Ishtar did to him. A task made all the more difficult by the bounty you put on our head, that made it all but impossible to leave the tunnels."

"You tried to kill me!" Baal protested.

Malek pointed the knife and had the pleasure of seeing Baal jerk backward, even though he recovered quickly. "You broke your promise and tried to keep us prisoner -- and you **know** being captive again would destroy him. You enjoy breaking him to your will, when Ishtar could not. There is no other reason he's in your bed."

Baal opened his mouth to continue to argue, but snapped it closed again, reconsidering. His eyes stayed fixed on Malek, chin up slightly, proud and insufferable. Finally he spoke, "You see only what you want to see. Very well. Here's something you can understand: Asheron is mine. **You** are an inconvenience and a threat. But for some incomprehensible reason, he likes you, so I won't rip you out of his brain. But," he paused and leaned forward slightly, tone dark with warning, "if you attack me, you had best be sure that you succeed in my death, because if you fail, our bargain is void. The first thing I will do is capture Samantha Carter and kill the symbiote she carries. And then I will destroy Earth."

He meant it, Malek knew. **This** was the Baal he expected. "Asheron would never forgive that."

Baal sneered, "If I'm what you believe, then why should that matter? He'll still be mine."

"He will never be yours," Malek retorted. "He'll kill you, as he did Ishtar."

But Baal didn't appear worried about that, and answered with perfect confidence. "No. He won't."

Malek feared Baal might be right about that. Asheron hadn't wanted Malek to try to kill him all those years ago and he'd be less willing today. Malek figured his only hope was if Baal would betray Asheron personally -- but surely with a Goa'uld that would be only a matter of time.

Baal continued, "We have an agreement, and we will both keep it, so long as you don't interfere. It's your choice, Tok'ra."

Then with a casualness that Malek was sure had to be feigned, yet seemed real enough, Baal rose from the bed and began to dress.

Malek turned his eyes away, staring at the knife he was still holding in his hand. There was Baal's bare back, not far away, ripe for a knife to go into it. He couldn't possibly have a personal shield when he had no clothes on, and therefore was a perfect target. But Malek didn't throw. It felt like a betrayal of his people to sit there and do nothing, but he held back. He knew what Asheron would say: better to save the living than avenge the dead. If he failed, all the good of this bargain would be undone, and if he succeeded, he would have rid the galaxy of one Goa'uld but also broken his own host's trust.

With a heavy breath, he set the knife back on the far bedside table. "All right," he said in answer to Baal's inquisitive look. Just as Baal was starting to look very pleased with himself, Malek said flatly, "I still want you dead. But not today."

"Well, at least that's something," Baal muttered, as if Malek were finally being reasonable. "In the meantime, you can make yourself useful, Tok'ra, and figure out a way to cure the roshna dependency from the Tellians."

Malek stared at him. "You were serious about that?"

"Of course. I gave my word," Baal stated simply. "I acquired Nurrti's data, and if you are the biochemist I believe you to be, you can use that to solve the problem. You have clearance for the lab in the tech building. Tell Asheron I will see him at mid-day."

He left, leaving Malek feeling unsettled by the encounter. His desire for revenge had just been short-circuited and he felt off-balance and dissatisfied. Baal had dropped the bomb that he was genuinely trying to cure the Tellians and he wanted Malek's help with it. He wanted to believe that Baal was doing it merely to manipulate him, but it seemed unlikely - not to mention overly arrogant - to suppose Baal was sacrificing the servitude of an entire race for such a vague gain.

And even if he would, Malek could certainly not going to give up the opportunity to help the Tellians. Korra had given his own promise of Tok'ra help to Aris Boch, and Malek had tried to help, but been stymied by the complexity of the problem. With Nurrti's notes, however, it might be possible.

He flopped back in the bed, disgruntled, and thought at his sleeping host, *_We should have killed him, beloved. We still should.*_

But he knew they would not, not soon.

* * *

Asheron woke up, aware immediately that Malek was awake and, more importantly, had been awake when Baal had been there, too. He made a show of checking the bed for a dead body. *_You didn't try to kill him. I'm impressed by your restraint.*_

Malek was not amused. *_I can't kill him when he's going to give me Nurrti's notes about the Tellians. I still think it's a ploy, but I must take the opportunity he presents to cure them.*_

*_He does enjoy getting his own way,* _Asheron observed.

*_And you encourage him, by giving it to him,*_ Malek answered, with a strong current of distaste and memory of waking up next to Baal.

Asheron couldn't defend against that, because he knew Malek was right. He swallowed and stared up at the ceiling. *_I don't feel her, Malek. There is nothing about him that reminds me of her. He makes me feel safe. And I know that's stupid, that he's a Goa'uld and he has thousands of years of hurting other people, I __**know**__ that.* _His hands were clenched tightly into the coverlet, and his heart was beating too fast because he felt queasy with guilt and fear of Malek's condemnation._ *But it doesn't change anything.*_

Malek hesitated, nosed around in Asheron's memories of the last few weeks, and gave in with a mental sigh. *_Beloved, he manipulated __**me **__into not killing him, using something he has been planning since Kilchor brought us here. So how can I blame you when he gives you something more important, something even I could not?*_

*_You hate him,*_ Asheron said.

*_Of course I do. But you do not. You tried to, for my sake, but I understand why you cannot. And I will grant that he seems to be willing to make grand gestures of concession, such as the Tellians and releasing Teal'c. But still, I think you should test his commitment. The Tellians are nothing to him; they were easily sacrificed. What can you ask for that would be more difficult for him to give up?*_

Asheron didn't take long to decide; it had been preying on him since he'd been at the SGC.

At lunch, after the lotars had taken away their plates, Asheron asked, "What do you know of Moloc?"

Baal frowned a little and gave a careless shrug. "He has always done what Ishtar and I required of him. He has little ambition, and keeps to his territory otherwise. Why?"

Asheron drew one finger along the glossy wood of the table then raised his gaze to Baal. "I want him dead."

Baal's eyebrows flared in surprise, but he said only, "I don't make a habit of killing my loyal servants. What did he do?"

"He's been murdering the girl babies born to the Jaffa." Asheron left it at that. He could tell Baal about the Hak'tyl and their connections to the rebel Jaffa, because even a Goa'uld could see the strategic problem there, but he wanted to hear what Baal would say first.

At first Baal said nothing at all. He regarded Asheron for a moment. "He is not."

*_He doesn't know,* _Malek realized with surprise.

Asheron was briefly glad. "He is. He's been doing it since Ishtar died."

Baal didn't argue, taking Asheron's source of intelligence for the truth. He shook his head once, looking annoyed. "Where are we supposed to get the next generation of Jaffa if he kills all the females?" he demanded rhetorically. "Fine. Request granted, Asheron. Such stupidity shouldn't live."

Asheron clenched his jaw, angered that Baal didn't seem to think about the morality of Moloc's actions at all.

*_You expected something else?*_ Malek asked.

*_I'm an idiot,*_ Asheron snapped back at him and nodded to Baal, taking what he could get. He stood and started away, but Baal's hand caught his shoulder.

"I know why this is important to you, Asheron."

Asheron didn't look at Baal and said flatly, "Do you."

"Your daughter."

Startled that Baal knew about Jisa, Asheron pulled free and stalked to the window. His stomach knotted up and he had to swallow to find his voice. "Teal'c and I had planned to go kill him ourselves, after O'Neill refused Tau'ri resources." He gripped the window frame with his fingers and repeated, "I want him dead. Just bring him to me, and I'll do it myself."

"You would?" Baal asked.

Asheron's lips lifted in a cold smile. Killing Moloc wouldn't be hard. He could use a staff weapon or even a knife if he had to. "He wouldn't be the first, would he?"

After a moment, Baal answered, "I think we're better off letting the Jaffa execute him in my name. But," he moved up behind Asheron, arms sliding around him and breath hot on his neck, murmuring, "the idea of watching you kill him is very tempting. I'd like to see that." His hands held Asheron in place as he pressed up snugly into him, making it clear how much he wanted to see it.

*_I know where this is going. I'll be sleeping if you need me,* _Malek said, and abruptly disappeared. To compensate for the sudden abandonment, Asheron held still in Baal's embrace, focusing on the touch of his hands and his body.

"That's ... disturbing," Asheron murmured. "You're stirred up by imagining me kill someone."

"No," Baal corrected, nipping the line of his neck, "by you being dangerous. You so rarely admit it."

Asheron couldn't quite argue that he wasn't dangerous, since that would be absurd. But he couldn't let it lie either. As goosebumps broke across his skin at the determined assault on his earlobe, he protested, "I'm not _**that**_ dangerous. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Oh, but that makes you even more dangerous," Baal murmured, opening Asheron's belt and pants and slipping his fingers inside to touch his lower belly. "You stay here, with me, when you don't have to. You save the lives of useless humans, not with insipid pleas, but with ruthless strategy. You ask me for the head of one my most loyal servants, and I give it to you. I wonder sometimes if you plan to kill me and take over my empire for yourself."

Asheron snorted a laugh. "That's a good plan; I should've thought of it." He took the window frame in one hand to brace himself. He knew where the groping hand was going, and he certainly wasn't going to stop it. "I'll let you finish conquering our enemies for me first."

Baal chuckled lowly. "You see? I have a cobra in my bed. A very beautiful, sleeping cobra. Cobras can't be tamed, only coaxed."

He tilted his head back, "Coax me some more, and stop being such a tease."

"So impatient," Baal chided. "If I'm not in a hurry, you shouldn't be either."

"You're not the one with the hand inside his pants," Asheron complained. "Shouldn't we move to the bed if you're intent on being so slow?" he asked.

"Oh no. No bed. Right here in front the window. It's a lovely day."

Asheron looked out the window, up to the sky and down to the city below the palace. He shuddered on a surge of hot desire and he felt himself stiffen at the idea. Baal chuckled, and licked his outer ear curve. "You like the idea," he murmured.

Asheron couldn't disagree.

They ended up on the rug in front of the window, tangled together. Asheron lay there, heart beat slowing, enjoying the sweet lassitude in his muscles and the heat of the sun on his skin.

Baal's fingers caressed slowly down his spine. "Tell me what more you want," he requested in a low voice. "I will give it to you, Asheron. I have servants-- that's not what I want from you. I want you _with _me."

Asheron could hear a note of confusion, as if even Baal was feeling his way in this strange thing they were trying to make. That gave him the confidence to ask the only question which mattered.

"Tell me about your host," he requested.

Baal's hand paused and he let out a short breath, as if he'd expected this question and yet hoped it would never come up. "There are some who resist joining," he started. "Or who are too afraid, or too worshipful. They must be suppressed and locked away. But sometimes, host and symbiote are compatible, with similar desires and similar thoughts. So it was with me. We merged, over the years, long ago. There is no separation in our thoughts or memories. We are one being."

"Truly?" Asheron asked, intrigued, and watching Baal's eyes closely for the lie. "Are you telling me what you think I want to hear? Because you don't have to. I made my peace with the possibility when I agreed to this. I just want to know the truth."

"I don't expect you believe it, but it is true." After a moment, Baal added, "I could still acquire another host if necessary - it is still physically possible, but it would feel very strange, I think."

"And what would be left in this body?" Asheron asked curiously.

"I'd rather not find out," Baal answered, with a frown. "I think I would still be me, but ..." he pauses to consider the right word, "I don't know."

Reassured by the words and hopeful that they were actually true, Asheron teased him, "You've blended. Like a Tok'ra."

Baal wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Never."

Asheron was still smiling as he leaned forward to touch lips again, pleased. Baal might disdain being like a Tok'ra, but Asheron had some hope that he could pull Baal in that direction anyway. Egeria wasn't the only Goa'uld who had chosen another path.

* * *

The young woman came into camp, straight up to Ishta and Ke'lal, bent between the two women and whispered urgently to them.

Sam looked on, curious, about the news, especially when both of the older priestesses looked shocked. Ishta demanded, "Are you certain?"

"That is what he said? Exactly?" Ke'lal asked.

The younger nodded once, very seriously, and straightened. "Yes."

Ishta and Ke'lal exchanged a glance and Ke'lal nodded once. Ishta stood and faced the gathering. "My sisters and honored guests," the later directed at Jacob, Teal'c, and Daniel sitting by Sam. "Your attention."

Everyone fell silent and turned to Ishta expectantly. "Jen'el has brought us great news," Ishta said. "Moloc is dead!"

There was cheering and applause among the Hak'tyl, that lasted for a moment, until Ishta raised a hand and quieted everyone.

"Yes, this is news to celebrate," she agreed, "but there is more. For it wasn't by our hands that he has fallen. Jen'el, speak the same words to your sisters."

The dark-haired girl nodded to Ishta and faced the group. "I saw it. Two al'kesh descended on Moloc's palace. Many of Moloc's Jaffa surrendered to those on the al'kesh instead of engaging them. Those who resisted were quickly defeated. The invading Jaffa then dragged Moloc into the square in front of the crowd and beheaded him. The lead Jaffa, marked as a First Prime, said this, 'The daughters of this land need never fear this vermin again. Moloc's lands and life are forfeit to his master High Lord Baal, but he says to the people that their lives are their own, and they should appoint one or a council among them to lead and bring their needs to him. Any actions taken in rebellion to Moloc are forgotten as long as the people's loyalty is given to him.'" The girl stopped and took a deep breath. "Those were his words," she confirmed. "After he spoke them, Lord Baal's Jaffa returned to their al'kesh and left."

The Hak'tyl all began to talk, some rather excitedly. Sam smiled, a little uncertainly. She knew why Moloc's death was a good thing for the Hak'tyl, but this wasn't the original celebration of the announcement, but something different.

She glanced at her dad, to see if he understood. He met her eyes and explained in a low voice, "Moloc served Ishtar for a long time and transferred his loyalty to Baal on her death. They're wondering what Moloc did to get punished."

She nodded, understanding what he was suggesting. "You think this is Malek?" she asked.

He answered, "Baal couldn't care less about the Hak'tyl, I'm sure. But Asheron... he did."

She had to agree with that.

But her dad went on, "But really, that's not the interesting part, Sam. What's got Ke'lal -- and Selmak too -- all excited, is that the Jaffa said "High Lord Baal."" When she looked confused, he explained, with brows up, "Not god. Not even pharaoh. But emperor. They're trying to figure out what he means by it," he added with a jerk of his head toward the Hak'tyl.

"Maybe he doesn't mean anything by it," she suggested with a smile. "Like you said, maybe he doesn't even know. If Asheron and Malek ran this op, they might have told the Jaffa what to say."

"A First Prime?" Jacob wondered, frowned, and shook his head. "Hard to believe he wouldn't call his god a god on the word of a zhi'lotar."

Sam flinched, realizing that she'd forgotten for a moment what Asheron was doing. He wasn't in a position to order around the Jaffa.

Her dad continued, with a thoughtful look, "But then again, maybe Asheron's got more influence than I thought. We need to get someone in there, to see him. Find out what's going on."

Sam's looked across at Ishta and Ke'lal. "One of the Hak'tyl?"

Jacob shook his head. "Someone Asheron knows. And not you, Sam," he said quickly, even though she hadn't considered the idea until he mentioned it.

"It'll have to be a Jaffa, then," she said. "Not Teal'c obviously. Or Bra'tac. But maybe Rak'nor would be willing?"

"We'll talk with Teal'c. Baal's been on the move lately, so this'll have to be planned out carefully."

* * *

_tbc._


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

.

**Chapter Seven**

Baal decided that it was necessary to punish Yu for his continual invasions of Baal's territory, and went to conquer one of Yu's worlds with a fleet of his ha'taks. Yu's fleet was nowhere around, so the conquest took about five minutes.

Baal stood in his pel'tak, regarding the planet on the viewscreen with an irritated expression, and finally commanded, "R'zac, you may commence bombardment with the al'kesh at your leisure. Don't kill them all, though. I still need people to work the mines."

Asheron heard the command and simply couldn't believe it at first.

Then he walked up to Baal and said in a very quiet voice, "I need to speak to you. Now."

Baal glanced at him and noticed his expression. He frowned slightly, and said, "Hold, R'zac. Until I confirm."

In the anteroom off the pel'tak he turned, arms folded, but Asheron didn't let him get a word out. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't expect that a Tok'ra would understand the necessity --" he began.

"Necessity?" Asheron repeated furiously. "No. There's no 'necessity' here. This is the most idiotic thing I can imagine! Do this and they will hate you. They will rebel and work with your enemies to overthrow you."

"Isn't that to your advantage?" Baal demanded scornfully.

"Not while I'm standing next to you. Who do you think they'll come after first to get to you?"

Baal reared back in shock as though the idea had never occurred to him. Asheron thought that must be nice, to never have a care for anyone but oneself.

He glared at Baal, with his own arms folded. "This isn't because I'm soft hearted, this is _self-preservation_. Being smart. You might try it."

He waited, wondering if he could possibly override thousands of years of casual and excessive brutality. But he couldn't just stand there and allow Baal to slaughter thousands of people for the sin of having the wrong master. He had to try, no matter how futile it would be.

But Baal surprised him. He narrowed his eyes in thought, regarding Asheron with his head cocked to one side for a moment. And he asked, very reasonably, "Then what would you propose to do instead?" Asheron opened his mouth to answer, but Baal held up a hand. "No, don't tell me. I have a better idea." He beckoned Asheron to follow him back to the pel'tak, sat down in his throne and spoke to R'zac. "Jaffa. Lord Asheron will give the orders about what to do with this planet and its population. He has a new plan." The last was said with only a little sarcastic emphasis.

Trying not to show how shocked he was by Baal's order, Asheron took a deep breath to settle himself again and addressed R'zac, "There is supposed to be a local god, Ikanu, servant of Yu. Capture him. Don't kill him if you can help it. I'll tell you what to do with him when you have him in hand."

R'zac nodded sharply. "Yes, my lord." And he went off to see to it.

Baal leaned closer to Asheron in his chair and murmured, "Tell me I won't have to keep Ikanu a prisoner very long."

Asheron just smiled, teasing him. "You'll see."

At first Baal looked grumpy that Asheron wasn't revealing his plan, but then he sat back as if to enjoy a show, crossing his legs. "I hope it will be entertaining."

Asheron was aiming for practical. But if Baal was going to give him the chance to keep people alive, then he was certainly going to take it. With a little luck and skill, he might bring this world into Baal's domain with a minimum of bloodshed and terror.

When he gave R'zac the order to execute Ikanu in the town square, he felt Baal's gaze on him. Asheron ignored him to give the First Prime the text of the proclamation he was going to read to citizens after the execution.

Baal said nothing in protest, even waved a hand for permission when R'zac glanced at him uncertainly at the content. Then, when R'zac was following his order, Baal leaned closer and murmured to him, "I see what you're doing."

"But you're letting me."

Baal shrugged. "If you can make them more useful alive, then that's all for the better." He smirked up at Asheron in amusement. "Having them compile a list of their needs? Really? If you want more dull clerical business to attend to, I have tribute records I haven't looked at in two hundred years you can audit, if you want."

Asheron remembered the SG-1 report about Mot and snickered inwardly. "Yes, I know. And I think I should. Conquest only goes so far, you have to administer what you conquer or it slips away."

Baal leaned back in his throne, folding his hands together contentedly. "Then I'll do the conquering, you do the administering. That seems reasonable."

"You get the exciting half, and I get the boring half?" Asheron complained, teasing.

Baal snorted, not buying it. "You enjoy it. But I'll keep in mind your desire for occasional excitement in our next engagement with our enemies. I know you can be creative in getting what you want," he smirked at Asheron knowingly, and out of sight of the few Jaffa in the pel'tak, his hand slipped off the arm of his chair to run a finger down the side seam of Asheron's pants. "I've always been curious about your talents in battle."

* * *

Baal was as good as his word. Asheron was with him on the command ship when Yu's fleet started to move. Baal had suspected the missing defenses on Ikanu's planet meant Yu was planning something major, so Baal's fleet was well positioned to bring twelve ha'taks down on Yu's incursion. The Jaffa fairly quivered with excitement about the possibility of such an overwhelming defeat. But then a communication came that Morrigan - obviously working in concert with Yu - was sending her fleet against the border she shared with Baal, which was relatively lightly defended.

But Baal needed only a short moment to think before he started issuing commands. "R'zac," Baal ordered, "You will obey Lord Asheron as you do me. He is my voice and my hand. Defeat Lord Yu while I tend to Morrigan's foolishness. I will take Izal's ship and three others."

"Only four?" Asheron asked.

"Is that concern I hear?" Baal retorted dryly. "I can spare a few from Dakara to reach there in time. But you must teach Shang-ti a lesson we are not so easily tricked."

They didn't kiss before he left, but Baal ordered him, with a tight grip on his sleeve, "You will keep yourself alive. At all costs."

Then he ringed away to the other ship, leaving Asheron in command of the fleet. He glanced at R'zac and knew that Baal had left his loyal-to-the-death First Prime here because he didn't completely trust his lover not to take the fleet and betray him somehow. Though Asheron wondered if Baal really believed he'd not fight Yu -- it wasn't as if he had a problem killing other Goa'uld.

Baal's small fleet went to hyperspace and was gone.

With a slow, long inhalation of breath, reminding himself that he'd sat in a damn throne before, he seated himself in Baal's throne. For an instant the pel'tak was silent, and R'zac waited to see what he would do.

"Continue on our intercept course toward the enemy fleet," he ordered. "And let me see the map of the region."

When he had an idea of his strategy, recalling lessons from his youth from his father and the military academy and having some knowledge of the usual Goa'uld and Jaffa strategies, he called R'zac to him and laid it out. "Shengu," he pointed to the system. "Two ha'taks go there and wait. Six of us will proceed to engage Yu's fleet, that way he'll think Baal split ours in half. During the battle, our line will fold and we will limp back to Shengu, luring them behind us. Then the fleet will catch them in a crossfire."

R'zac frowned at him. "My lord prefers open attack and overwhelming force, not deception."

"We don't _**have**_ overwhelming force," Asheron reminded him. "We're even, and that's only if we have accurate information. What if Oshu's bringing **all** of Yu's fleet?"

"That... would be problematic," R'zac admitted. "But we will fight, regardless," he declared proudly.

Asheron shook his head. "Well, if it's twenty to one, no, we won't. We'll retreat and wait for reinforcements. I'm not going to get killed for nothing, and I won't let you, either."

R'zac didn't say anything for a moment and regarded him unblinking. For a moment, Asheron was inwardly amused by the Jaffa's difficulty. R'zac knew Asheron had killed Ishtar, knew he was a Tok'ra, and knew his lord had taken this mortal as his mate and had left him in command even though he was no Goa'uld and was possibly plotting treachery. He knew that Ishtar's personal Jaffa had all died when she did, and there was no way he could know which ones Asheron had personally dispatched. Jaffa culture, preoccupied with blood lines as it was, didn't approve of male on male sexual relations in general, though that was probably the least problematic of any of it.

Baal had put his First Prime in a difficult position, forcing him to accept a situation that was bizarre, at best.

Asheron waited patiently for R'zac to figure out a way to understand it, knowing that R'zac's acceptance would lead the rest of Baal's Jaffa to accept it as well. Not that anyone had dared object, but Asheron would rather they figure it out for themselves.

After a moment, R'zac nodded. "Understood, my lord. It will be as you wish, though I promise we would fight to the death if it is required."

The granting of the honorific was a signal of acceptance, and Asheron relaxed a little, knowing that R'zac would follow him. "Let's hope not," Asheron returned wryly. "Fighting to the death has its place, but dying itself isn't that much fun, trust me on that."

The two reserve ha'taks peeled off to wait in the Shengu system, and the rest of Asheron's fleet proceeded to intercept Yu's.

It was with a far more companionable atmosphere that he and R'zac continued planning. Asheron decided to eat lunch before they'd engage the enemy, and then unsettled R'zac by inviting him to eat at the same time, when they were in the commander's chamber off the pel'tak. When R'zac refused, Asheron asked if R'zac had a family, and had to smile at R'zac's confusion about why he cared about such things. "My life depends on you, R'zac. It seems only prudent I find out about you. Plus, I'm bored, waiting for the battle to start."

R'zac didn't quite crack a smile at the admission, but he did relax slightly. "Two hours, my lord, by our scout report."

The fleet found Yu's on the scanner ninety-seven minutes later, and the battle was joined. They were, in fact, outnumbered six to nine, though Baal's fleet had a few al'kesh bombers and beaming technology that helped even things up. Asheron thought they might win anyway beaming over bombs, but Yu's Jaffa figured out how to cycle the shields to block the beam quickly. Then, someone on the other side got the bright idea to start acting like a wolf pack and cut individual ships out of their squad, damaging it and forcing others to break off to help them.

They started to take damage. The fleet started to splinter apart, each ship acting individually, carrying out the plan a little **too** well, and Asheron called for everyone to fall back.

The lead Jaffa from Yu's fleet, not Oshu, called to taunt them for fleeing like cowards. R'zac stiffened and glanced to Asheron, who listened with a smile. He shut off the communication without responding. "Keep to the plan," he reminded R'zac. "We're not retreating - we're advancing. He just doesn't know it yet."

Harried by Yu's fleet, they limped away, the undamaged ships protecting the hit ones. They came into the Shengu system again, right before the largest gas giant and pretended they were aiming to hide in the rings.

The enemy signaled another taunt at them, pursuing. This time, though, his Jaffa didn't react. Everyone watched the tactical display, waiting, as they drew Yu's fleet into position.

Asheron imagined the consternation in the enemy fleet as two ha'tak's rose out of the rings and put the enemy ships in a crossfire. He smiled as he ordered R'zac, "All ships fire at will. Pound them."

His advantage of position was fleeting, since he didn't have enough ships to truly box them in, but it lasted long enough to do significant damage. One of Yu's ships suffered some sort of catastrophic engine failure and blew up. Minutes later, a second lost its shields and, in trying to get out of the battlefield, careened out of control and right into the planet's rings. Asheron's hands clenched to fists, watching, knowing there was no way to save them, as the ice and rock pummeled the ship and then it dropped into the storms of the planet to be crushed.

"Open a channel," he ordered Tel'nor on communications. When he was told it was ready, he addressed the screen in a tone of voice he hadn't used in thirty years, "This is Asheron, commander of the fleet of Supreme Lord Baal. You have lost. Surrender or you will be destroyed."

The viewer hummed to life and a Jaffa appeared, sneering, "We will not surrender to Baal. Not ever."

Asheron was tempted to call him an idiot but held his tongue. "As you wish. Maybe after a few more of your ha'taks are destroyed, you'll reconsider. There's no reason for you all to die for nothing. The offer remains open for you or any of your men."

He nodded to Tel'nor to close the channel.

The fleet destroyed three more of Yu's ha'taks, and Asheron tried again, with an open channel to the remaining ships.

He leaned forward in the throne and fixed his eyes on the screen. "If you come to my ship, kneel to me, and swear fealty in Lord Baal's name, I will let you live," he declared coldly. "If not, you all die."

One of the other Jaffa captains bowed his head. He was wearing Cronus markings, not Yu's, and he said, "We align ourselves with the strength of Lord Baal and we will transfer our allegiance to him."

"Shol'va," one of Yu's Jaffa snarled from another screen.

Cronus' former Jaffa snapped an order, and fired on his former fleet. Another ship, perilously close to destruction, surrendered.

Tel'nor reported, "My lord, one ha'tak is activating hyperspace engines. Shall we send an intercept?"

Asheron didn't have to think about it. "No. Let them go," he ordered. "Someone has to tell Oshu what happened here."

The last ha'tak went to hyperspace and was gone.

The pel'tak was silent, and Asheron frowned then glanced at R'zac. "So tell me, R'zac. We won, right?"

And R'zac smiled -- he _grinned_. "Yes, my lord. It is a great victory."

Which was when Asheron let himself believe it. He slapped the arms of the throne and stood up, too full of energy to sit down anymore. "We won. Damn it, we won! Tell everyone they did a great job. And ... and I'm sure Baal will be pleased, but I certainly am. I need to send a message to Baal. Bring those commanders here to swear their loyalty but watch them in case they intend treachery. And I'm not sure what ceremonies you have for the fallen, but feel free to arrange that as well."

R'zac bowed his head, and Asheron went into the adjoining room to call privately. He sat down and then jumped up again while the commlink searched through subspace to find Baal's ship. The delay was tedious, but in all, not quite as long as Asheron expected before Baal's face appeared on the wall monitor. "Asheron." He frowned slightly, searching Asheron's face curiously. "Have you engaged?"

"Oh yes," he answered, smug and excited by his news. "It's all finished. They were defeated utterly. I let one escape, three ships have decided to swear fealty to you, and the rest are destroyed."

Baal's eyes widened. "I am impressed. Well done."

"And now I completely understand the urge to conquer things," Asheron added. "It's all so ... thrilling." The excitement of his triumph was like liquid fire running through his veins. Looking at Baal, he wished Baal was there, on the ship with him so they could have sex, maybe for the next two days -- that might be enough to burn off all this adrenaline and endorphins of victory.

Baal grinned. "Then this all turned out even better than I hoped," he said, his dry voice teasing. Then the amusement fell away as he glanced aside at something. "I am two hours out from Morrigan's position still, but I think she's attempting to bait me with this derelict vessel on our sensors." His gaze returned to the screen, facing Asheron. "Until I finish her, go to Tartarus. You remain my second."

"I will."

Asheron was about to close off the connection, when Baal added, "Asheron? We will celebrate our victories. Have patience." His smirk suggested he knew exactly what Asheron wanted, and then the picture faded and the connection was lost. Asheron smiled ruefully, at how easy he was to read from thousands of light-years away, and went back out to the command deck.

In lieu of expending his energy in bed, he went to find some Jaffa who would celebrate with him by staff fighting. Some didn't want to spar, though Asheron wasn't sure if it was because 'the gods' shouldn't be slumming on the lower decks, or out of respect, or maybe even fear that he would be too mortal. But Asheron ordered them and eventually they actually gave him a fight. By the time he was on his fifth opponent he was profoundly glad for Teal'c's training and didn't embarrass himself.

He thought he saw some new respect dawning in the warriors' eyes, and accounted the few bruises well-spent by the time he gave the staff back.

The ship arrived at Tartarus. Asheron hated the place instantly. He hated the overblown gaudy Gothicness of the audience chamber, and the creepy chambers for creating the Kull soldiers, and the giant hall where they waited like robots. The Kull soldiers didn't attack him, but they didn't listen to him either. The aura of Anubis was all over the walls, stinking of death and evil, and by the time he found the remains of the Kull experiments in the basement, he was ready to bomb it from orbit. He refused to sleep on the surface, preferring to stay on the ha'tak.

That first night he had vicious nightmares of Ishtar watching gleefully as armored Kull soldiers surrounded him, crushing him between their hands. He woke, gasping for breath and heart pounding so hard he was shaking. He reached across the bed for warmth, but Baal was still gone. *_Malek?*_ He prodded at that part of his mind, needing the company. *_Malek, please. Wake up. I can't be alone right now.*_

Malek's presence returned in a rush of warmth. *_I'm here, beloved. You're never alone.*_

Malek soothed him until he felt strong enough to go wash his face. He stared into the mirror, not liking how the haunted shadows had returned to his eyes.

*_Stay on the ha'tak,*_ Malek advised. *_There is no reason to go back there.*_

He took a deep breath, calming himself. *_I think you should look at the technology down there. And if you're with me, I'll be okay. I guess I expected a place more like Saphon, not this... unrelenting horror.*_

He sensed Malek's desire to tell him that there were parts of Saphon that were pretty horrible too, but after seeing Asheron's memories of the things he'd found on Tartarus, he kept quiet.

It felt like a restoration of how things had been before, those two days they explored Tartarus. Asheron dealt with a few things that R'zac passed up to him, but mostly Malek investigated Anubis' technology, while they both waited for Baal to arrive.

When he did, it was to report Morrigan had never shown herself. Baal was disgusted by her cowardice, figuring she must have heard of Shengu and fled back home.

"But you... won a great victory," Baal purred at him when they were finally alone. "I already have squads of Jaffa from Heru'ur and Apophis petitioning to join my ranks as word spreads. Even if half of them are Free Jaffa spies, it's still impressive. Your first major engagement and you won a victory the galaxy will remember for years to come..."

His lips brushed Asheron's neck, while his hands worked on the buttons to remove his clothes.

Asheron slid his fingers into the short, bristly hair to raise his head and get to his mouth. When Malek bid him goodnight, he returned it absently, and barely noticed when his symbiote took himself out of the way.

* * *

Baal refused to destroy Tartarus, too busy studying Anubis' technology, even though he acknowledged that the place was unpleasant to stay for long. Asheron kept himself either on the ha'tak or in the anteroom of the throne room, where he'd set up a computer link to examine some of Anubis' records. Much of the databanks were encrypted, but the records his Jaffa had made were not, and Asheron and Malek were going through them, marking delivery of supplies that seemed related to other projects besides the supersoldiers.

He was interrupted by Baal's footstep on the stone floor and a PTD tossed at him. He snagged it out of the air, curious. Baal explained, with open scorn and impatience, "I received this request for assistance from Thenvar. It's a useless planet, of barely any value at all. Not long ago I would have let them all starve and thought nothing of it. But I know this is the sort of thing you enjoy, so do what you will."

Asheron smiled at his retreating back, but the smile faded when he realized how dire the situation was. Thenvar was suffering sudden high rains. The people had escaped to higher ground, but their crops and stores were destroyed. They had food only for a few days.

He had to find them food, but where? So many Goa'uld worlds were deliberately primitive and rarely had enough for themselves, not to mention enough to spare for another community. For a moment, he was tempted to send information to the Tau'ri so they could help and then shook his head in disgust. What the hell was he doing here if he couldn't even feed people? He had to find a way to do it himself.

But Baal returned while he was still compiling a list and sending messages. His steps were quick and his voice urgent, "Gather your things. You must go."

Asheron blinked up at him in confusion. "What happened?"

"A message from one of my commanders. The fools recovered Anubis," Baal snarled. "They're coming here. And you cannot be here when he arrives."

"What? Why?" Asheron stood, still trying to process that Anubis was back.

"You are not a Goa'uld. If he finds out you have a Tok'ra, he will quite probably kill you both." Baal swept all his papers and his PTD into a pile and shoved them at him. "Do this from the ship."

"But -- the Kull -- you can -- "

"They are programmed to obey him first, not me. And I do not want you anywhere that he can reach you easily." His mouth compressed into a tight line and he ordered impatiently. "Move, Asheron. I will not give him more weapons to use against me than I can help."

"Where am I going?" Asheron asked, bemused by the concern as Baal pushed him to the center of the room and clicked a metal bracelet into place on his wrist.

"Saphon. You will have my authority there. Tel'nor will be your first prime."

"And you?"

Baal snorted in disgust. "Until we find a way to be rid of him forever, I'm stuck playing his minion. I'll join you when I can." He caught Asheron in his arms and kissed him hard. "Stay safe."

He touched a button on the bracelet, and Asheron felt the dizzying electric sensation of an Asgard-designed transport beam take him before he could say anything in return.

* * *

A week passed while Baal attended to Anubis on Tartarus. On Saphon, Asheron acted in Baal's stead, hearing his audiences and resolving various disputes that came to him. As the Jaffa and clerks understood what sort of things he was willing to hear, the scope of the petitions widened to include common people. Asheron felt more comfortable handling those, since they were the same sort of things he'd heard on Naritania, though the occasionally tangled politics of some of Baal's minor lordlings could be interesting. But since he knew all this rule was boring to Malek, he made sure to give Malek time in the lab, too, creating the roshna antidote.

One afternoon, the last petitioner was done, and Asheron let his shoulders relax as the main door closed behind the clerks, leaving just him, Tel'nor, and two Jaffa guards.

"Leave us," a Goa'uld voice commanded, and Asheron glanced aside where Nerus was entering through the open archway to the left. He kept his lip from curling in distaste at the sight of the Goa'uld, but his jaw tightened.

Asheron was pleased to see that Tel'nor looked to him for instruction, first, and Asheron waved him off. He'd been expecting a challenge from at least one of Baal's Goa'uld lordlings since Baal had unequivocally informed them that Asheron ruled in his stead.

"Nerus, " he acknowledged coolly and didn't rise from the throne.

"Asheron," Nerus replied, and he smiled - an expression that reminded Asheron more of a shark than anything. His great bulk moved with a threatening smoothness across the floor toward Asheron. "I listened to your audience. Some of your decisions were... questionable. Contrary to my lord's way of doing things."

Asheron raised his eyebrows. "Oh? In what way?"

"You gave mercy to one who questioned Baal's authority, for one," Nerus said. "Baal won't approve."

Asheron wasn't concerned; Baal had known exactly what was going to happen when he put Asheron to rule for him. When Asheron refused to get sucked into defensiveness, Nerus continued, "Also, I couldn't help but notice you didn't use the voice."

Nerus did, though, using the timbre, and Asheron waved a hand in dismissal and obvious mockery. "It's a silly affectation."

"But how else will the filthy humans know we are gods?" Nerus asked.

"We're not gods," Asheron answered flatly.

"Well, you certainly are not. You're not a Goa'uld at all. Are you, _Tok'ra?" _he accused.

Asheron smiled faintly at him, refusing to be intimidated by this moronic attempt at blackmail. "Baal knows what I am. I am his mate and his second-in-command." He stood up, looking down from the dais at the Goa'uld. "That is all that concerns you."

For a moment, Nerus reconsidered, looking worried, but then decided to go for it. "You are nothing. Egeria's spawn, weak rats all of them."

Asheron's lips pulled into a dark smile. "We choose another path, one less blinded by our appetites and instincts. But hardly weak. Don't make me your enemy."

But Nerus wasn't ready to give up yet and ignored the warning. His gaze slipped insolently down Asheron's body and then back up, and he licked his lips. "You were Ishtar's whore, and now you're his. And in time, you will show me the tricks you must have to ensnare a lord of Baal's power."

Asheron's insides froze with rage, and he stepped down to confront Nerus face to face. "Do you really want to challenge me, Nerus?" he asked softly. "So quickly you forget -- " he leaned forward to stare right into his eyes and murmured, "I butchered Ishtar. I cut her throat while she made me fuck her. Baal's alive because we have an arrangement; you get no such safety. If you touch me, I will kill you. And if I don't, Baal will."

Nerus started to smile, as if he didn't believe him, but Asheron pushed the tip of his knife deeper into Nerus' toga so he could feel it at his ribs. The smile faded. He hadn't thought Asheron was armed, just because he wore no ribbon device. But Asheron had taken to wearing Baal's knife under his sleeve, exactly for situations like this.

"You're pathetic," Asheron said, with a sneer. "Your appetites control you. All I have to do is order the kitchen to stop feeding you, and you'll come crawling for some of that mercy you scorn so much. So who's the better Goa'uld, Nerus?" Nerus flinched, and both of them felt it. Asheron smirked, knowing he'd just won. He lowered his knife, turned to walk up the two steps of the dais, and seated himself on the throne again. "You may go."

Nerus tittered as if the whole thing had just been a joke. "My lord, forgive me, I didn't understand your power, your magnificence --"

Asheron ground the pommel of the knife against the arm of the chair, blade pointing upward, cutting off the fawning words. "Be glad I'm not putting this knife right into the back of your host's neck. Get out."

Nerus bowed, as best he could with his girth, and hurried out.

Asheron put the knife back into its sleeve sheath and looked up when Tel'nor approached. The Jaffa was frowning in concern.

"He's either cowed or he's going to poison me," Asheron guessed and added with wry humor, "If he manages to assassinate me, make sure Baal knows, so he can kill that bastard very, very slowly."

Tel'nor answered seriously, "We will not let him harm you, my lord."

"I appreciate that."

* * *

One evening, after dinner, Asheron sat at the desk, with old, dusty parchment rolls and PTDs piled up before him, as he tried to reconcile Baal's tribute records. It was no wonder he'd lost Mot -- for someone who was so detailed about some things, Baal had paid just enough attention to make sure his income wasn't declining. But his minor lords and his clerks had clearly been taking advantage of his inattention, though Asheron was still unwinding how bad it was.

Two of Baal's most loyal Jaffa stood guard in the doorway, and it was with only a part of his mind that he heard them conferring with another Jaffa who sought audience. The Jaffa was passed within, and without yet looking up, Asheron asked, "You have a report?"

"I do, my lord." The words were said properly, but the voice… was familiar. Frowning, Asheron glanced up. What he saw was stunning. Only years of practice with the royal mask kept him from standing and blurting out the Jaffa's name. Yet it was only the specific identity of the visitor that was a surprise -- Asheron had been expecting a visitor for some time now.

So he merely beckoned the Jaffa nearer. His two bodyguards lingered in the doorway, but did not approach. Which was fortunate, as Asheron had quite a lot to say, to the tall, youthful Jaffa, he had first met two years ago at the Alpha Site.

Lowering his voice, Asheron asked, "What are you doing here? You must leave. Immediately. This was beyond foolish, Rak'nor."

Rak'nor stood at formal Jaffa 'attention' not daring any sort of familiarity in his gestures, but his face was quite revealing. "What are **you** doing?" Rak'nor returned softly, but his eyes blazed. "You claimed you were not a Goa'uld, but here you sit, by all appearances, Lord Baal's right hand. You run his empire, rumor says. And we know you commanded his fleet at the battle of Shengu. I came to find a prisoner, but instead I find a collaborator."

Asheron flinched, but anger rose up to cover the moment's weakness. "There is more here than you understand, Rak'nor. And I haven't the time to explain it to you. You must go. Baal is expected shortly, and he is no fool. He will know you are Free Jaffa come to 'rescue me', and I will not be able to save you."

"Even though you are his lover?" Rak'nor accused.

But this did not make him flinch. It was true, after all, and there was some strategic advantage to letting it be known. Not to mention it would keep Sam away from him, safe. "Even so," he answered steadily. "You must go, Rak'nor. Now. When you return, tell Teal'c this -- _Anubis has returned._" He saw the shock on Rak'nor's face and knew the Jaffa understood a lot more. "He will understand why I stay, and send no more fools to save me. Now, hurry. Go."

Only a few moments after Rak'nor had gone, the small door behind Asheron opened. He did not turn around, even when hands came to rest on his shoulders. "So. Our message is delivered," Baal said, and Asheron nodded. "You did well," the Goa'uld added.

Asheron let out a half-sigh and leaned back into the grip, trying to chase Rak'nor's angry words from his mind. "I knew it would happen eventually. But we're lucky it came after Anubis rose again, so we could pass the warning to the Tau'ri."

Baal let out a soft chuckle, and opened the small buttons on Asheron's collar, to slide his fingers inside and caress the sides of his neck and top of his shoulders. "And once again, you prove you have ensorcelled me," he murmured, burying his face in Asheron's neck to kiss him under the ear. "I cannot believe I permitted a known leader of the Rebel Jaffa to walk out of here."

Asheron turned, with a smile, eager to bury the nagging doubts raised by Rak'nor's visit. "Then perhaps I should reward my mate for his forbearance?" he asked archly, but didn't wait for an answer, pulling Baal down to have their mouths meet.

It took little time for them to go to the bedroom and disrobe. Skin against skin, flesh on flesh, Asheron tried to lose himself in the heat of Baal's body against him and the feel of deft hands. He needed to drown that voice that said all of this was wrong. He needed to feel **right**.

There were no more thoughts. No more doubts.

Oblivion.

* * *

_tbc..._


	8. Chapter 8

Continuing on for my handful of readers.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

.

SG-1, O'Neill, Jacob, and Rak'nor gathered to hear Rak'nor's report of his visit to Saphon. Sam listened, and couldn't believe it.

"Anubis. Well, that's just special," O'Neill groaned. "After all we did to get rid of him, Baal has to go get him back. Why?"

"Not on purpose, unfortunately," Rak'nor added, with a frown. "According to the Jaffa of the garrison, one of Baal's ha'taks was in the area and detected Anubis' energy. They investigated and found him."

"Great," O'Neill muttered and scrubbed a hand through his hair, glaring at the folder in front of him.

But Sam was interested in something else. "You're sure," she persisted, "that Asheron is ruling Saphon? He's a _lotar."_

Rak'nor shook his head. "He isn't acting like a lotar, Colonel Carter. That morning I watched him give an audience, sitting in Baal's throne. No one questioned it. He gave mercy to a child who said Baal was a false god."

"Well, that's good," Sam said in relief.

"But then," Rak'nor added, "he had three others put to death for rebellion. He acts in Baal's name, and I saw no sign he was a prisoner. He told me directly he didn't want to be rescued. He's turned on us."

"No, he wouldn't," Sam objected. "That's ridiculous."

"Maybe he's got a Goa'uld now," Daniel suggested, and held up a hand to fend off Sam's glare. "If Malek was killed or forced out, Baal could've put anything in there."

"No Goa'uld would allow Asheron to use his own name," Jacob answered, shaking his head. "Plus, he let you walk out of there, Rak'nor. No, I think something else is going on."

Sam nodded vigorous agreement with that. If he wasn't Goa'ulded, then he was doing exactly what they'd thought originally by infiltrating Baal's court; he'd just had a whole lot more success than she'd ever dreamed possible. But she could think of more possibilities that that, and none of them were good. The Goa'uld knew about mind-control, brainwashing, drugs - there were any number of ways for Baal to make Asheron into his slave.

O'Neill dragged her attention back to the briefing room, with an aggravated snort. "Does it matter, Jake? Anubis is back. He's going to pick up where he left off, and we're all just as screwed as we were before." He let out a groan. "When did my life get so screwed up that having Baal rule the galaxy is an improvement over _anything_?"

Sam shared a glance with her father, and they decided silently to drop it for later. But even as she continued the discussion, she already knew what she was going to do.

Later, Jacob followed her to her office and he shut the door behind them.

"I recognize that look, Sam," Jacob said, with a sigh. "Out with it."

She couldn't help a brief smile at how well he knew her. "I'm going to Saphon," she declared, "and find out what's going on with Asheron and Malek. I should be okay, as long as Baal isn't there."

Jacob shook his head. "Sam, no. That's too dangerous. Besides, if he's in deep cover, all you'll be doing is putting both of you at risk."

"Dad, what if he needs our help?" she challenged. She thought about how upset Asheron had been still, over what Ishtar had done to him, and she added, more softly, "What if Baal hurt him until he couldn't take it anymore? We saw how Ishtar still haunted him, and that was thirty years ago. Getting tortured again might have broken his mind. We owe it to him to find out the truth and get him out if he needs it."

Jacob nodded once, reluctantly. "All right, but I'll go," he said. "Selmak and I have played Goa'uld before."

But she was shaking her head. "Not Goa'uld. I want to go as myself. Asheron and Malek will help me get away."

"And if they can't or won't?" Jacob asked.

"Then you'll know Rak'nor's right, and there's nothing left of them," she answered, trying for humor but it fell flat. She bit her lip and tried to explain how she felt bruised inside, imagining what was happening on Saphon. The truth couldn't be any worse than her fears, or her guilt. "Dad, I left him there. I let him trade his life, maybe his sanity, for me. I have to try."

Jacob looked into her eyes, saw the resolution there, and sighed. "Jack will never agree."

"Then I'll have to go without asking." When her father stared at her in shock, she lifted her chin. "We're Tok'ra. We need to look after our own."

Inside, she felt a little rill of excitement in her nerves, and an eagerness that wasn't entirely her own.

* * *

Getting off-world was easy enough. They waited a few days so no one would make the connection to Rak'nor's report, and then Jacob decided he wanted to retrieve some hidden Tok'ra gear and she went with him as the only other person who could access it. Persuading O'Neill that they didn't need backup was a little more difficult, but it was such a milk-run to a quiet, backwater planet when most Goa'uld these days had more important things to worry about than checking on uninhabited planets, that he finally let them go.

Sam couldn't quite return his smile when he saw them off, guilty over the lie, but not quite guilty enough to confess, and walked through the event horizon.

The sunlight was brutally glaring, and the planet smelled like rotting vegetation. The Stargate was perched on the side of a cliff, overlooking a sea that looked strangely and nauseatingly pink. After a moment she figured it out: the water was full of some kind of reddish plankton or algae as far as the horizon.

"You really hid supplies here? Nasty." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"There's a way down the cliffside to a cave," he nodded toward the edge. "You sure you don't want to go with me to see?"

"I'm sure. Hopefully, this won't take long," she said and tried a smile. "Thanks for covering for me."

He sighed. "Be careful." He dialed the Stargate with the glyphs for Saphon.

Instead of heading through immediately, she flicked on her radio, hoping there was some sort of reception or this was going to get more complicated. She was sure Baal probably had some kind of shield on his gate like the SGC's iris, since it was right inside his palace compound. "I am an emissary of Earth, the ones you know as Tau'ri, and I bring a proposal of negotiation for Supreme Lord Baal. I am unarmed and I am prepared to come alone, if Lord Baal agrees to meet with me."

The answer came through surprisingly quickly. "_Supreme Lord Baal is not upon Saphon at the moment."_

She let out a silent sigh of relief. "Then would it be possible to present my offer to his First Prime or other authority for him to consider when he returns?"

"_Yes. You may enter. Take no more than two steps beyond the event horizon. If we see weapons, you will die,"_ the obviously Jaffa voice commanded.

"Understood," she sent back and shared a look with her father, and he gave her a hug.

"Good luck, Sam. And if you get a bad feeling, get out. Remember it's not just you anymore."

"I know," she said. "See you soon."

She took a deep breath, asked herself if she really wanted to do this, then walked through, determined to find out the truth.

Not surprisingly, she ended up in the Stargate hall she'd left from months ago. She walked the careful two steps out of the gate and stopped, raising her hands out to her sides. The air was cool and smelled fresh, and she took a deep breath to rid her lungs of the cloying algae stench. The Jaffa were out in force, and a Kull soldier stood sentinel, watching her without moving. One lead Jaffa frisked her for weapons thoroughly, while the others kept a zat on her, then he glared at her.

"Tau'ri, you may speak to Lord Asheron, who rules while our Lord Baal is absent. He will determine what to do with you," the Jaffa declared.

"That's fine," she answered, keeping her voice calm while inside she was suddenly jittery with the confirmation of what Rak'nor had said and dread for what she would find.

She wanted the truth, even if it wasn't good. She needed to know what was really happening, so they could plan to do something about it. If Asheron was really a Goa'uld or brain-washed, she needed to know that so she could plan an extraction. If he was in deep cover, she needed to know that, too.

Sam entered the throne room, surrounded by Jaffa. She hoped she looked calm and confident, even though her heart was pounding, and she surreptitiously had to rub her palms on her pants. What if she was wrong and Rak'nor was right, and he'd turned on them? No, she was right, she knew she was. She just had to talk to him.

But her mouth went dry when she got a good look at the occupant of the throne. She could barely recognize him. It wasn't just the throne or the layered clothes of the same tailored brocades that Baal favored. It was the posture, the casual slouch that was nevertheless completely in command, and the look on his face, so at ease and so controlled as he listened to what one of his Jaffa was telling him.

He did not look like a man doing something against his will.

She swallowed hard and reminded herself that there were many ways to hold a person against his will. Chains were only the most obvious.

The Jaffa next to her announced, "My lord, we have brought the Tau'ri intruder to you as ordered."

Asheron turned to look at her. He turned white and clutched the arms of the throne. Obviously he hadn't been told who was coming. But she was immediately certain he hadn't been implanted with a Goa'uld, since no Goa'uld would have that look of horror on his face.

He didn't keep it very long. His face went blank and when he spoke, his voice was cold. "Colonel Carter. Tau'ri are not welcome in Saphon. Why are you here?"

She thought frantically for something to say that was fit for public consumption. She doubted that blurting out that she was here to rescue him would go over well. Straightening, she lifted her chin, "The Tau'ri come with an offer of peace."

His brows lifted in sardonic amusement. "I was not aware we were at war, Tau'ri."

She bit her lip and stared at him, wishing he would give her some help. But he seemed disinclined to give her some way to get him to talk to him alone.

Alone. Maybe that was the key.

"No, we're not at war," she agreed. In fact it was only half-true. Baal had not attacked Earth or its few outposts, but that didn't mean he couldn't. And it didn't mean that Baal wasn't Earth's enemy -- nobody was enthusiastic about his conquest of the galaxy.

She continued, squaring her shoulders and hoping this was going to work. "We have watched you in your continuing quest to eliminate all who stand in your path. My leaders decided that we must seal a bond of friendship with you and Lord Baal, to keep our world safe. So they sent me to arrange a treaty with you."

He leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair -- the very picture of a pleased lord -- and he deliberately swept her from head to foot with a lingering gaze. "And you, Tau'ri, are you my prize for agreeing to any treaty?"

She felt her cheeks heat from the suggestion, but took the suggestion gratefully. She bowed her head. "If you wish."

His smile widened. "Oh, I am quite certain I wish it. Tel'nor, take the Tau'ri to the mountain view study. I will be there shortly."

One of the Jaffa bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."

Sam let the Jaffa take her away, looking back over her shoulder at the door. Asheron was watching her, his face expressionless but his hands gripped the arms of his chair in unconscious anxiety. But then she was nudged from the room and lost sight of him.

* * *

The Jaffa brought her to a small room with a tiled floor spread with a thick carpet in a geometric design, a large window looking toward the mountain peaks, and a pair of plush arm chairs on either side of a small table set with a game that looked a bit like backgammon. On the back wall was what she thought was a painted mural of a lush flowering garden, but on closer inspection it proved to be a mosaic made with colored stones, none of them bigger than her littlest nail, then covered with some kind of clear lacquer to preserve it.

She looked around, impressed in spite of herself. Neither the usual Goa'uld tacky decorating or even Baal's interest in technology was much in evidence -- the most gaudy things were the pair of matching vases with gold patterns, but even those showed an age and craftsmanship that Sam could see.

Two Jaffa waited with her, with two male lotars who brought a plate with cheese and bread, and tea.

Finally, some ten minutes later, Asheron came through the main door. Without taking his eyes from her, he dismissed everyone from the room.

"Why are you here?" he demanded harshly, the instant the door closed behind the lotars, leaving them in the room alone. "What foolish notion brought you here?"

She tried a smile. "I thought you might be happy to see me."

"How can I possibly be happy to see you walk in here, disrupting my plans and putting yourself in danger for no good purpose?" he returned, folding his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. I wanted to know if **my** Asheron was still alive," she added more softly.

That caught him by surprise. But he damped it down and answered flatly, "No. Now you can go."

His horror when she'd walked in the throne room made that one a lie. She shot back, "I don't believe you." She waited, watching his face. His expression was tightly controlled, but she could sense something else there behind it that was straining to get out. "We've heard things," she said. "That you are Baal's lieutenant. That you solidify his conquests and run his empire."

Actually what they had heard was far more frightening than that. Baal was systematically wiping out his competition, removing the other Goa'uld, and putting in a new system of governors, law and taxation. Jaffa were flocking back to him, and some of the subject populations had actually welcomed Baal, since he was a less harsh a master than their previous Goa'uld. Baal was not just destroying his enemies, he was building an empire.

All of which sounded suspiciously like Asheron's influence, taking away the aspect of Goa'uld evil which made their subjects hate them the most -- whimsical, purposeless cruelty -- and replacing it with order.

"All of it is true," Asheron said flatly. "All of it. Including the fact that we are lovers." He said it as if throwing it into her face, hoping to make her recoil.

But she'd known since the day she'd left him here that compliance had been part of the bargain. She just nodded. "I know you bargained for our freedom by agreeing to be his zhi'lotar. I know what it means."

"Do you?" he asked, with a dark, humorless smile. "I don't think you do, or you would never have come here."

"Then explain it to me," she challenged. But she need not have wondered if he would, since he seemed to take a ruthless delight in telling her.

Arms still folded in protective hostility, he said, "I am not his slave. We are mates by choice. I bed him by choice. He doesn't force me. He doesn't have to, because I like it." He emphasized the last words enough to make her lean backward, and she saw his satisfaction at her reaction.

He added, pressing his advantage, "There is nothing I have not done for him in pleasure or not let him do to me, no part of him I have not touched. But mostly I just like him to fuck me."

She felt her eyes go wide and then her cheeks grew hot in embarrassment. She had the sudden flash of what Asheron looked like during sex, but with Baal on top of him. Long lean bodies entwined, with sweat shining on their naked skin… The image was disturbing and wrong, but not in the way it should have been or the way Asheron intended.

Trying to get the picture out of her mind, she wondered suddenly who had taught him the word and its meaning. How he knew to use it as a shock tactic.

She straightened and recovered the step she'd taken backward, determined not to let him get to her. "This isn't going to work," she said. "You're trying to push me away."

"I'm telling you because it's true," he snapped. "But, yes, I do want you to leave."

She stepped closer to him, and he moved back, out of her reach, with a brief look of something like fear flashing in his eyes. She stopped where she was, afraid that she would provoke him accidentally into flight. But it did tell her that she was right. "Come home with me," she urged quietly. "I know you don't really want to be here. And you don't have to be. Let's go home, and we'll fight Baal and Anubis as we always did."

He shook his head once. "No. I belong here."

"How can you say that?" she demanded, as a sharp needle inserted into her heart. It hurt far more than his intentionally crude attempt to push her away, since he didn't even seem to mean it cruelly. "You **belong** with me. And what about Turan? Earth?"

"Somehow I think you'll manage without me," he answered, with bitter sarcasm. "It's not as if I was doing anything useful for Earth."

"Is this useful?" She shook her head in frustration. "Asheron, you are helping Baal become the unchallenged ruler of the entire Goa'uld space. Don't you see that?"

"That's the plan," he answered with infuriating calm. "There's been too much chaos, too much death. We're going to get rid of Anubis, once and for all, and go back as it was under Ra, but better."

She stared at him, aghast. But she saw nothing in his expression that indicated he didn't mean what he said. "Better?" she repeated in disbelief. "Do you actually think enslaving the galaxy under Baal's rule is 'better'? That doesn't sound like you." He didn't reply, just got a little smile on his face like she had never known him at all. Maybe she hadn't. The thought made her angry. "What did he offer to get you to help him? Will you have Inannar for your own to rule? Or is he paying you in some other coin for your services?"

She gasped, and her hand flew up to her mouth the moment the words came out. She shouldn't have said that. Oh God, the look on his face -- like she had slapped him. But then the expression changed back to that arrogant mask and he drew himself up. "I see you finally understand, Sam," he said coldly. "Did you really think that I would be content with the scraps the Tau'ri threw my way? But Baal understood what more I could become and he offered it to me." He smirked, but his eyes remained shuttered and dark. "And the price of sharing his bed was one I was willing to pay."

She couldn't speak, horror like a cold weight in her chest. Rak'nor was right, after all. A small part of him maybe wanted to leave, but there was more that enjoyed the power.

"So you see why I will never come with you," he continued. "Baal and I both have what we want. There will be order and justice, and peace and safety again in the galaxy."

At first she was going to dismiss his words and say scornfully, _'justice? What does a Goa'uld know about justice_?' Then she remembered the death of Moloc, freeing the Hak'tyl. It was not the only story like it either, in Baal's quest to administer and consolidate his territory. Baal didn't know a lot about justice, but Asheron did.

She realized she was wrong. She had bought into his act, after swearing she wouldn't. This wasn't about her and Turan. It wasn't about Earth. It certainly wasn't about ambition and power, no matter what he claimed.

Managing a bit of a smile, she shook her head. "You keep trying so hard to make me turn against you, feeding me half truths so I abandon you here. Protecting me and Turan and Earth, by sacrificing yourself? Making sure nobody dies but you?" she asked softly. "Is that the real bargain? You let Baal kill you, a little each day, and he lets you rein in his instincts for death and pain? So when Asheron is gone, at least you'll have tried to do good?"

He shook his head in automatic denial, and turned away from her. But his tone softened, in tacit admission that she'd finally gotten past his defenses.

"He's not killing me. He doesn't hurt me, if that's what you're thinking," he answered, choosing the most literal interpretation of her words. "He listens. He lets me save people-- people who would be victims of his vengeance or neglect. I've persuaded him to kill some of the worst of the Goa'uld predators, and we're trying to find a way to eliminate Anubis. It's working."

"At what cost to you, Asheron?" she persisted, but gently. She was surprised, but relieved, to know that Baal wasn't hurting him, but then, why would he bother, when he apparently had what he wanted? "You're moving Baal away from genocidal warlord, which is great, yes, but what direction is he moving _you_? Expediency over right, obedience over freedom... what compromises are you making?"

"Nothing I can't live with," he answered. His voice was firm, as if he meant it, but even if it was true now, she couldn't believe it would last.

"Yet."

He let her word fall untouched and took a deep breath. "You have to leave, Sam. He could come back at any moment, and I -- I don't know if I can protect you again."

"You don't have to --" she started calmly, but reassured that he really did still care.

"Yes, I do." He turned back to her, anguished as he demanded, "Why did you come here? Why? If he catches you and kills you, everything I've done will be for **nothing**!"

"Asheron -- "

He paid no attention, wrapping his arms around himself and moving back against the table behind him. The dark eyes were open windows to a wounded spirit, completely bare of his usual control. "But I don't know that I can stop him this time. He already has everything -- my body and my mind -- my soul. I have nothing left to give him. I can't keep you safe, Sam. Please, you have to go. Save Turan if not yourself."

"Not yet," she answered. He hung his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. It just about broke her heart to see him there, so diminished. Baal had done this. But even as she grew angry at him, she knew she was angry at herself, too. She'd ignored his concerns about coming here, so sure she knew best when she should've guessed there was more going on.

Then she frowned a little, wondering. The mention of Turan reminded her that there should have been another consciousness in the room. Someone who should have been helping Asheron keep an even keel, rather than letting him fall.

"Asheron, can I talk to Malek, for a moment?" she asked.

"No," he answered too quickly.

"He doesn't want to talk to me?" she asked, frowning more deeply as she tried to understand. Was Malek more involved in this than she'd thought? Maybe her dad should have come after all. Maybe Selmak could talk some sense into the two of them.

Asheron shook his head, but still didn't look at her. "Malek went dormant," he answered, to her shock. He lifted his head, that awful not-smile twisting his lips again, and he said bitterly, "He works on the roshna cure, but that's all. He said he couldn't bear to watch me whore myself to the Tok'ra's greatest enemy."

She recoiled at the echo of the terrible words she had thrown at him. She didn't believe Malek had said it, or at least not been that cruel, but clearly that was the way Asheron had taken the words. But worse, she was appalled that Malek had left his host completely unsupported during all this. "So you've been alone," Sam whispered. "All this time." After having never being alone for thirty years. God, no wonder he'd grown so attached to Baal.

Baal had known it and taken advantage, luring Asheron to him with sex and kindness and appreciation for his political and military skills. Even Sam hadn't given him that, not really. She'd had all sort of admiration for Malek's scientific prowess, but dismissed Asheron's tenure as a ruler as little more than a figurehead. But recent events had demonstrated how wrong that was.

"Alone," Asheron repeated in a whisper and shook his head once in the negative. He fixed his eyes on his hands, which were gripping the back of the chair, seeing some distant memory. "Long ago, I was alone. I was trapped in the dark, a cringing beast with nothing left in his soul but a distant memory of once being a man. But he never hurt me. His hands touched me as though I was made of glass, so gently… I had forgotten what it felt like to feel anything but rage and pain and shame. He gave me back to myself, when I'd forgotten who I was. He still does."

She listened, filled with amazement and growing apprehension. She'd been right that Asheron and Baal had been together when Ishtar had still been alive, but terribly wrong about the relationship between them. Baal hadn't increased Asheron's torment, he'd made it lighter. As hard as it was to understand and accept, they hadn't been master and slave -- they'd been lovers. They still were.

Asheron raised his head to look at her, and she knew she'd lost him. He looked like a fallen angel, all bright and beautiful but surrounded by impenetrable shadow.

"I know you think I'm forgetting who I am now," he said quietly. "Maybe it's true. But I have to stay. I'm sorry," he offered, and took a deep, steadying breath. "I do love you, Sam. I hope you know that. But it's best if you leave and don't come back."

He turned away and headed for the door. She blurted his name, fearing if she let him go now, it would be for good. "Asheron!" Her voice caught and she had to try again, forcing the words from her throat. "You promised you'd stay and help Turan."

He paused, his hand on the door, but he didn't turn. "I know. I am sorry. Sam, do not hesitate for my sake. If the Tau'ri or the Jaffa have the opportunity, take it. I wish I could, but -- I can't. I can't do it." There was a moment, in which she realized what he was saying and she opened her mouth to protest, but he added, "I'll send Jaffa to escort you to the chappa'ai. Fare well."

Unable to speak, she watched as he went out the door and shut it behind him. Her eyes were painfully dry, as she stared at the door in the foolish hope that he would come back in.

* * *

Sam came through the gate back to the planet with the reeking pink seas, to find her father waiting nearby, sitting on a small crate and another pile of equipment next to him. He stood up on sight of her.

When the gate closed behind her, his shoulders sank in disappointment. "I guess, the good news is he let you come back, and the bad news is you came back alone?"

She nodded, weary and sick at heart. "That pretty much sums it up."

"He couldn't or wouldn't?" Jacob asked.

"Both, I think. But mostly wouldn't," she admitted. "He's ordering the Jaffa around, and hell, who wouldn't let that go to their heads? But that's not it, not really." She shed her jacket, feeling too hot in the humidity, remembering the cool mountain air of Baal's palace a little wistfully, then let out a breath. "I almost think it might be better if he _was _a Goa'uld. He thinks he's doing the right thing, trying to make a kinder, gentler version of Baal, protecting people."

Jacob sighed. "Malek can't possibly approve of this."

"Malek went dormant on him. How could he do that?" she demanded, frustrated. "How could he leave Asheron alone with that manipulative son of a bitch? What the hell did he think was going to happen, except that Asheron would have no choice but turn to the only person who actually seemed to c_**are**_ about him?"

"Care?" Jacob repeated, lifting his eyebrows incredulous, almost laughing. "Baal?"

Usually she would have agreed and probably laughed too, because of course he was right -- "Baal" and "care" did not go into the same sentence. But she couldn't even find a smile.

"It's all true," she said, suddenly feeling wrung out. "Everything. They're … mates." At her father's blink of surprise, she almost smiled. "That's what he said -- mates. He meant it that way. He said -- God, Dad, he said that back when he'd been getting tortured into insanity by Ishtar, Baal was there for him. **Baal **brought him back." She let out a pained laugh. "It's funny, isn't it? The same Goa'uld who tortured General O'Neill to death and revived him over and over again, saved him from the bitch who was doing the same to him."

But it wasn't really funny at all. She subsided with a sigh. "More than that, from what Asheron said, Baal has never hurt him at all. Which is just bizarre, but I believed him."

Jacob just raised his brows thinking deeply, and then he said, "That is interesting. Selmak is full of all sort of theories about clever plots and evil Goa'uld trickery, but I'm inclined to believe there might be some sort of genuine feeling there. Baal isn't known for his restraint."

"But twenty, thirty years is a long time to hold on to a," she struggled to find the right word, when she had no idea what it actually was, "an… obsession. Love affair. Whatever."

Jacob shook his head. "Not to a Goa'uld. I have no idea **how** it happened, but assuming Asheron raised some sort of passion -- " Sam winced at the term, and he grimaced in apology, correcting himself, "-- feeling in him, I doubt a hundred years would be too long. Especially since he knew that Asheron became a Tok'ra, he could wait."

She nodded that she had heard. She didn't understand, but then, there was so little of this that she understood. The only thing she was sure of, was that the man she had thought she was falling in love with was letting himself become a Goa'uld, putting himself on the wrong side for the right reasons.

"I think we should forcibly extract him before he digs himself any deeper, since Malek isn't doing anything," she said.

Jacob looked briefly tempted, but shook his head decisively negative. "I don't think we can. With Anubis back, that alliance between Baal and Asheron might be the only thing to save us, when the ZPM's depleted and the Asgard are in trouble with the replicators."

She winced, remembering how the replicator version of her had played her so badly. But then she asked bitterly, "So we let him sacrifice himself for our protection? Again."

"It was his choice to put himself between Baal and Earth," Jacob reminded her, face soft with compassion, but a general's awareness that sometimes sacrifices were necessary. He squeezed her shoulder. "If we can get rid of Anubis and Baal, he'll be free. That's what we should work toward."

She nodded in reluctant agreement. Bending, she scooped up a large net bag full of small pieces of equipment and swung it over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here," she suggested. "This planet stinks."

* * *

A week later, Sam listened to Bra'tac and Teal'c's plan for the Free Jaffa to attack the remaining system lords, and she didn't have to say anything, since O'Neill and her father were saying it all for her.

O'Neill bit his lip. "This is... very bold. Do you have the forces to do this?"

"We have enough," Bra'tac declared. "We have the security codes. They will lower their shields, believing we are friendly."

"Still, a six-prong simultaneous attack. It's ambitious," O'Neill said, but his tone shaded to the doubtful and Teal'c picked up on it immediately.

"We must be bold, O'Neill. We must prove to the Jaffa who waver that the Goa'uld are false gods."

"In any case, the plan is set," Bra'tac said. "We will not change it."

O'Neill grimaced a smile, and asked, "Then, thanks for telling us, I guess?"

Bra'tac flashed a brief grin. "Teal'c will come with us, of course."

"And I wish to ask Colonel Carter and Daniel Jackson if they wish to join us and observe," Teal'c turned toward them.

She hesitated, then asked, "Are you going after Baal directly?"

Bra'tac shook his head, understanding her concern. "Not at this time. His ships use a different code which we could not obtain. So we will focus our attention on Morrigan, Yu, and Dedun."

O'Neill said, "Seems to me, with Baal already going after them, if you weaken them more, he's just going to snap them up."

"Territory, yes, but the Jaffa will come to us. Their hearts will not belong to the Goa'uld, after our success, and word will spread within Baal's Jaffa as well," Bra'tac said.

There was a moment of silence, when the Tau'ri figured out the Jaffa were not going to be dissuaded, and there wasn't much else to do besides wish them well. "I hope it works out," O'Neill offered and glanced at Sam and Daniel. "You want to go observe?

They both nodded, curious about how this was going to work. Sam shared O'Neill's misgivings about the plan - it seemed there was little tangible gain for such a massive operation, but still, it was important to support Teal'c and the rest of their allies.

As the briefing broke up, she and Jacob exchanged a look and without a word, he squeezed her shoulder.

The Free Jaffa were going to have to target Baal eventually, and Asheron and Malek were going to end up in the cross-fire. She reminded herself that Asheron had said not to hesitate, that he'd been prepared for the possibility. She had to have faith that he had a plan to extract himself as well.

But in the mean time, she had her own mission, and it wasn't without its own dangers, being in the middle of a war.

* * *

Malek was deep in complicated genetic analysis when a diffident voice from the doorway interrupted, "My lord? There is an urgent report. Tel'nor requests your presence."

*_That can't be good,* _Asheron said to Malek. *_Tel'nor knows not to interrupt your lab time.*_

Malek turned toward the lotar and answered, "Thank you, Drelai. I will see him in the work study."

"I will so tell him, my lord." The lotar bowed his head and slipped out again.

Malek grimaced and felt disgruntled at the title. But he set his analysis to run without him, and they met Tel'nor in the smaller room behind the throne room. Tel'nor nodded in greeting. "My lord. We have lost contact with two ships near Nerulis. Their final transmission was the image of their attacker." He pointed, and Malek turned to face the viewer. It wasn't an enemy ha'tak -- it was sleek and silver with strange spiky proturbances.

A shiver of recognition passed through them both, even though they'd never seen a ship exactly like it before. There was really only one thing it could be.

"Replicators," Malek said.

Tel'nor looked briefly surprised by Malek's use of the Goa'uld voice, but nodded. "I thought so as well."

"Has word been sent to R'zac and Baal?" Asheron asked, nudging Malek out of the way.

"R'zac has heard," Tel'nor confirmed. "He will inform Lord Baal."

Asheron nodded and examined the rest of the report. "I think we are in little danger here. Replicators aren't interested in planets."

*_Until they have nothing left in space to consume,*_ Malek reminded him. *_Remember the reports from the SGC about the Asgard homeworld.*_

*_If it gets that bad, we are all screwed, my friend.*_

Malek was amused. *_Both you and Baal pick up the strangest expressions from the Tau'ri.*_

Which reminded Asheron of something more important. *_The Tau'ri have the anti-replicator disruptor technology from the Asgard. We need that. Do you know enough about how it works to duplicate it?*_

Malek answered, *_Yes. Are we sure we want to use it?*_

Asheron was aghast. *_Who would it benefit to let thousands of Jaffa and human die?*_

*_The Free Jaffa,*_ Malek answered promptly, then gave a resigned sigh. *_Though allowing the Replicators to grow so overwhelming that nothing can stop them would be foolish.*_ Aloud he told Tel'nor, using Asheron's voice, "I know specifications for an improvement to the weapons which stop them. After I input it, you'll need to send it to the ships nearest the Replicators for implementation before they absorb too many of our vessels and spread out too far to be destroyed at once."

"Of course, my lord."

They returned to the lab and Malek swept the research into a file for later, to start writing the specifications to change a ha'tak's weaponry into an anti-Replicator disruptor beam.

Asheron dozed off while Malek was doing things he didn't understand and for which his usual sarcastic commentary would be too much of a distraction. They ate only when Drelai brought dinner to the lab, but Malek finished after midnight.

By mid-morning, the three ha'taks had made the modifications and were on their way to intercept the Replicators. Asheron and Malek watched with Tel'nor from Saphon, and Baal was also watching from his ha'tak above Tartarus. As they all waited, Baal spoke over their private channel, "I know this is a Tau'ri secret, Malek. You could have done nothing."

Malek sneered, "No. The Replicators are a far more dangerous enemy than you."

Baal chuckled. "I feel certain you meant that as an insult, but I will take it as evidence that your feelings are warming toward me."

"Never," Malek snapped, which just made Baal laugh more, and even Asheron had to find it amusing.

But they all fell into a tense silence, broken only by short reports from the approaching ha'taks as the Replicator fleet - now augmented by two ha'taks - came into sensor range. Both fleets reverted back to normal space for battle, and the ha'taks fired as they had been instructed - as a constant barrage, targeting all the enemy ships with the full force of the augmented beams.

For a second, the screen lit up with the energy being released. And when it was clear they saw that the Replicator ships were completely untouched.

*_What?*_ Asheron asked in dismay. *_What happened?* _

"It failed," Baal said in disappointment. "Did you do it correctly, Malek?"

"I did!" Malek responded with a flare of anger, but instantly grew subdued. "They must have adapted to it already." He watched the screen, dismay filling him, as the shield-strength indicators on the ha'taks dropped. "You should order them to retreat."

Baal shook his head. "It's too late. They are infected already."

His words proved true only a few seconds later when the connection with the far ships showed nothing but empty static and then closed.

"I must gather a larger fleet and overwhelm them," Baal declared heavily.

Asheron took precedence, shaking his head. "You know that won't work. We don't have the technology to defeat them. The _**Asgard **_can't stop them. What makes you think twenty ha'taks will?"

"It will not," Baal answered with a resigned, tight little shrug. "But Anubis commands, and I have no other option to present him. Unless you do?"

"Earth," he answered. "Maybe Sam has already figured out something. If not, they need to be warned."

Baal snickered, and said dryly, "I think I will refrain from presenting that option to Anubis." He glanced to the side as though someone might be listening out of sight and grimaced in distaste. "Anubis would not be pleased at the thought of the Tau'ri being of use. But unless he comes up with some better means to defeat the Replicators, I fear we have no choice but fight a slow retreat against our enemies."

Asheron nodded, understanding what he meant without the specific instruction being given and smiled inwardly at the implicit challenge directed at Anubis. "Then I'd advise you not to throw the ships at the Replicators, back off and let them come, so they don't get stronger."

Baal curled his lip in distaste, but nodded. "Wise. I will, as much as I can. Continue with what you have been doing so ably," Baal told him and gave a little sigh. "I may be here for some time. Care for yourself."

Asheron wished him the same and signed off. Then he turned to Tel'nor. "Is the gate hall set up with the holographic projector? I need to speak to the Tau'ri."

Tel'nor hesitated. "Lord Anubis would not approve, my lord said."

"But Baal approves, Tel'nor, or he would've forbidden it. And Anubis is going to get everyone killed unless we stop the Replicators now."

But before they could carry out his intent immediately, another Jaffa entered with another urgent report.

* * *

_tbc..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Sam sat with her father, with O'Neill and Bra'tac and Teal'c behind them, all of them watching the monitors show the results of the transmitters the Tok'ra had once planted on Goa'uld ships. It was horrible, she thought, watching those little dots and realize there were living beings -- mostly Jaffa, but also Goa'uld and humans -- on those ships being eliminated. She wasn't sure she liked knowing, not really, not with the knowledge that they wouldn't be in this position if she hadn't given the Replicator their only weapon. Trying to remember O'Neill's attempt to make her feel better helped some, until another ha'tak bit the dust and the Replicators continued spreading like wild fire.

"There," Jacob pointed to a narrow line of demarcation and six dots waiting just past it. "Typical Goa'uld strategic error -- the instinct to protect territory is very strong. Especially Baal, I think. So he's sending his fleet in against the Replicators, even when it's going to be absolutely futile."

She frowned as the six ships moved and separated, four of them heading off another way and two returning the way they'd come Over her shoulder O'Neill drawled, "That must be Tok'ra insight, because that's not what I'm seeing, Jacob. They're not intercepting."

"No...they're not." Jacob agreed after a moment. It was obvious that the six ships were not going to engage, even as the Replicator ship crossed the boundary. "Interesting. If it weren't in front of my eyes, Selmak and I wouldn't believe it." He shook his head in wonder. "Baal is letting an enemy enter his territory unchallenged."

She knew who was influencing this radical departure from the norm, and murmured, "Asheron."

He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off the screen. "No doubt. I'd bet that was quite an argument. They should've sold tickets."

"Great," O'Neill muttered. "So he persuaded Baal to not throw his forces away. And is leaving **us **the Replicators to deal with. I'm not seeing the good there, people."

Jacob lifted his head and looked at O'Neill. "Jack, you realize that Asheron and Malek know these beacons are on Baal's ships, right? We're able to track the fleet at all because he hasn't told Baal about them."

O'Neill waved a hand in quasi-apology, but any words he might have spoken were cut off by the incoming wormhole klaxon.

They hurried downstairs to the control room, and Davis reported to O'Neill, "Sir, no IDC."

"Then we wait," O'Neill ordered. They all gathered as the wormhole stayed open, glowing behind the iris. Sam didn't hear anything hit the iris, but the wormhole didn't close, so there had to be something coming through. She was just about to slide into the other seat to check, when a strange light effect flickered at the end of the ramp.

Down below the guards stiffened, moved back, and snapped up their weapons, though she doubted bullets would be able to hit anything capable of walking through the iris.

"Well, speak of the devil," O'Neill muttered as the shape solidified into a person.

She stared. It was Asheron, or at least a hologram of him, since the image flickered on the edges. He looked well, wearing a long, collared shirt in dark blue velvet over pants and knee boots. He was frowning and blinking, looking around as if he was having trouble seeing, until his gaze found the control room and settled on her. His pleased smile was surprising, but warming, and she smiled back, lifting a hand to wave at him before she turned to head down to the gate room. O'Neill and the others followed.

"Sam, it's good to see you again," he greeted her as soon as she was standing in front of him.

"You, too. Where are you?" she asked.

"Saphon," he answered. "I have news you need to hear right away." He looked from her to O'Neill and Jacob, nodding at them in greeting, and shifting to Teal'c and Bra'tac. "The Replicators are back in our galaxy."

"We know," she answered. "We ran into them earlier. Daniel was taken, Asheron. We think my doppelganger wants to probe his mind about something he learned while Ascended."

He frowned. "Maybe all they have left to fear are the Ancients. They certainly don't fear us -- we attempted to use the disruptor against them and it failed."

She nodded, feeling guilty, and said, "Yeah, they adapted."

O'Neill stepped forward, "Wait a second. "We"? So you gave Baal the anti-Replicator disruptor technology?"

Asheron returned the look steadily, without apology. "Yes, I wanted to be able to get the Replicators before they spread too far. It didn't work. Worse, Morrigan and Yu were supposed to be in a meeting with Oya, one of Baal's underlings, to persuade them to surrender. They're all dead. So I guess the good news for you, is that Baal and Anubis are the last of the system lords. The bad news is that the Replicators are spreading rapidly in those territories." He glanced to the side, distracted by something on Saphon only he could hear. "Anubis wants Baal to gather the entire fleet and send them at the Replicators, even though we're both pretty sure that's going to fail. So, if you have a new weapon against them, I'd like to propose that you share it with us."

"I'm sorry, for a minute there, I thought you were suggesting we help save Baal's ass," O'Neill asked sarcastically. "Why the hell would we want to do that?"

"Well, for one thing, Earth is a lot closer to the Replicators' current heading than Saphon," Asheron answered with a touch of dry irony that made Sam smile. His gaze shifted to Bra'tac and Teal'c and he added, almost apologetically, "So far a thousand Jaffa have pledged to Baal, as word spreads of the Replicator attack. I expect more. And Anubis is going to let every single one of them die in useless battle, unless there's some way to stop the Replicators."

"We don't have one," Sam spoke up. "We contacted Thor, but we haven't heard anything yet."

Asheron nodded and pressed his lips together in disappointment. "That's... unfortunate."

O'Neill snorted. "Y'think?"

In the small silence that followed, Jacob stepped forward one pace, urgently, "How is Malek?"

Asheron seemed startled by the question, but with scarcely a blink to mark the transition, Malek's voice emerged, "I am well, Selmak."

Sam was surprised that they hadn't done the usual Tok'ra nodding of the head, but that line of thought didn't get very far before O'Neill asked, "So, when you gonna kill that slimy son of a bitch?" He mimed a knife at his own throat with a slashing motion, looking hopeful.

Malek's lips turned upward in faint amusement. "Not today, O'Neill. The current situation makes that... difficult."

Sam thought O'Neill looked pouty, but he nodded his acceptance.

But Teal'c spoke up, asking, "And when he is dead, will you also relinquish your command of his empire?"

Malek withdrew, and Asheron lifted his face to look back at Teal'c, "I will. But such a hypothetical presumes I outlive him, which looks ever more doubtful as enemies close in on all fronts." He glanced aside again. "I must go. If you discover a weapon and you decide to share it, contact me here. Good luck."

His gaze held hers for a moment, as if he wanted to say more and regretted not finding the words, and then he was gone. A few seconds later the wormhole shut.

Bra'tac spoke for the first time, staring at the closed iris, "Years of effort, undone in days."

Teal'c's hand closed on his shoulder. "All is not yet lost, Master Bra'tac. We must act, to win the hearts of our brothers. We can use this news to strike at the Goa'uld's hold on us."

"And do what, Teal'c?" Bra'tac asked. Everyone listened, equally puzzled.

"If Baal must send his fleet after the Replicators, that will leave Dakara lightly guarded. We have an opportunity to attack the idea that the Goa'uld are gods directly, if Free Jaffa can once again walk in the place where it is said Anubis made us."

Sam was about to ask what Dakara was and what he meant by that, but between one breath and the next, she found herself somewhere else.

Thor had come.

* * *

Asheron stood on the balcony, watching the colors change in the clouds as the sun set. The vast bulk of Baal's fleet was off fighting the Replicators to placate Anubis and slow their advance to give the Asgard or Anubis enough time to do something.

*_The Asgard have had little success against the Replicators themselves,*_ Malek reminded him. *_And I doubt Anubis intends anything except destruction. The lives of those beneath him - and everyone and everything is beneath him - mean nothing. That is why he was exiled originally. The other Goa'uld understood that to give him his way meant there would be no one to worship them.*_

*_If only we could throw them against each other somehow,*_ Asheron sighed, and took a sip of the tea from the cup he had balanced on the wall. *_Without the rest of us between.*_

The sound of boots coming through the door behind him made him turn. "My lord, I have news."

He found Tel'nor approaching, and the Jaffa added, "We just received word - Dakara has fallen."

Tel'nor's expression seemed more shocked and troubled than Asheron had yet seen it, and he figured he knew why. "Already? They're already in the central region? Gods, that means they're not four days from here."

Then Tel'nor corrected hastily, "No, no, not the Replicators. The Jaffa rebels now occupy Dakara."

Asheron stared at him in blank incomprehension for a moment and eventually managed to ask, "Why? The Replicators are two weeks from taking over the entire galaxy and they decide it's a good time to go occupy a ruined temple?"

Now Tel'nor seemed uncomfortable, not quite meeting his eyes, and shifted his weight to his back foot as if he wanted out of there. "It is... a symbol," he explained, slowly. "To the Jaffa. The place where we were made... by Anubis. For it to fall, means the gods are not omnipotent."

Asheron could read the new doubts in Tel'nor like words on a page, and for a moment, he had a choice: he could find a way to reaffirm the Goa'uld as gods, or he could tell the truth. Keeping Tel'nor's faith intact would be easier and more practical, but as he hesitated, he recalled Sam asking him what compromises he was making in the name of expediency. Then he felt a deep curdling shame in his gut that he'd even considered it, and that made it no choice at all.

Malek realized what he was about to say, and cautioned, *_Be careful. Honesty can be dangerous.*_

He drew in a deep breath. "Tel'nor, you know Anubis isn't a god. Neither is Baal. You _**know **_that," Asheron answered patiently. "But they're both very, very old and they know many things, which you and I don't. And unfortunately, Anubis is very, very hard -- maybe impossible -- to kill or destroy. So they're not gods, but they're not exactly like us, either."

"Us? You put yourself with me?" Tel'nor asked, sounding curious and honored, yet also scandalized.

Asheron laughed ruefully. "Oh, death and I are old friends. And I'm many things, but omniscient isn't one of them. Which is why I need to do things like ask you to make sure Baal knows about Dakara and he can -- "

In mid-gesture, his sleeve caught the teacup and swept it to the floor, where it shattered on the paving stones. "I'm also not omnipotent," Asheron added dryly, making Tel'nor very nearly crack a smile. He waved his fingers to the lotar at the end of the balcony to sweep it up and went back inside, with Tel'nor at his heels.

He went to the work room, sure that Baal was going to contact him with instructions on what to do about Dakara.

It took awhile, and Asheron had long since finished dinner and started to work rather desultorily on accounts, when he heard the chime of an incoming transmission. It was a heavily encrypted signal from his ha'tak and Asheron entered the code to decrypt it, wondering who or what Baal was hiding the contents from. When the image formed, Baal took a deep breath when he saw Asheron there and relaxed, as if he'd been unsure who was going to answer.

"We must be very careful, _zhir'an_," he greeted. "But I have no choice, I think."

Asheron frowned. "Is this about Dakara?"

Baal grimaced. "Anubis wants me to gather our fleet and go crush the rebel Jaffa there."

"That will keep the fleet away from the Replicators, which is what we want, isn't it?" He didn't expect battling the rebel Jaffa would disturb Baal so obviously. It bothered _him, _and he wished Baal hadn't told him, but there seemed to be something else.

Baal shook his head and waved a hand to dismiss its importance. "Yes. Anubis told me that this has been his plan all along - to gather the rebels in a place to be crushed. I fear, that's only a small part of his ultimate plan. When he was gone, I learned that Dakara is much more than a temple. Hidden somewhere within it, there is a device of the Ancients. It is a weapon capable of propagating through the Stargate and destroying all life that it touches. I believe he will use it against all who offer him resistance, including me and you. And Saphon and Earth. Possibly everyone."

In his mind, Malek was cold and silent with horror, while Asheron stammered out, "But the Replicators..."

Baal snarled, "He has knowledge of the Ancients. He can likely defeat them any time he chooses, but he waits for the Replicators to weaken his enemies first."

"Okay, so what should I do?" he asked.

"He has ordered you to go take command of a small portion of the fleet against the Replicators," he answered. "I think he has learned about Malek, and this is his way of attempting to kill you both. So you will do so, but you will attempt to draw the Replicators toward Tartarus. We will force him to fight them."

Asheron nodded. It sounded absurdly dangerous, but at least it was a plan he could fully support. "And you?"

"I will bring ships against Dakara as ordered. But first, you must warn the Tau'ri to destroy the weapon before I get there."

"You can't play both sides forever," Asheron warned.

Baal smiled back at him, bright but hard with the irony, and retorted, "Neither can you." The smile faded for a disgruntled curl of his lips. "I have no choice. I have no means to kill the Kull warriors Anubis has put as my shadow."

Asheron thought of the anti-supersoldier gun which the Tau'ri and Tok'ra had jointly made, but Malek answered, *_I did not work on it, and I do not know more than the basics of how to create one. But Samantha and Jacob do.*_

*_It probably doesn't matter. Even without the warriors there, Baal would have to be careful rejecting Anubis' command, with Anubis' Jaffa around.*_ Asheron answered aloud, "All right. I'll leave immediately, and bring Tel'nor with me."

Baal nodded, and for a moment, seemed reluctant to close the communication, looking at Asheron. Then he chuckled, amused, and explained off Asheron's raised eyebrows, "Strange, that of all people I should trust and depend on a Tok'ra the most."

Asheron smiled back. "Which isn't half as bizarre as allying myself with a Goa'uld, you know. The Tau'ri have a saying which I think is true, 'politics makes strange bedfellows.'"

Baal's gaze took on a distinct gleam. "I think that phrase should be: 'bedfellows make for strange politics'... I hope that all of this passes soon, and you can rejoin me at my side, where you belong. I dislike this solitude."

"You miss me?" Asheron teased, amused by the hint of vulnerability.

"I do," Baal admitted to Asheron's surprise, then he straightened and ordered, as if the weakness had to be papered over immediately, "Mind your safety, and do not let the Replicators board your ship."

The communication ended and Asheron rubbed a hand over his face, feeling suddenly unsure and burdened. Draw the Replicators to Tartarus without getting killed... it sounded like a useful strategy in principle, but he had not the least idea how to do it, not when ship after ship had been taken over by them, and there was no effective weapon against them.

Malek soothed him. *_First contact the Tau'ri and warn them of Anubis' plan. Then we will have to leave to join the fleet. Tel'nor will help with the strategy.*_

Asheron took strength from the reminder and went to start the preparations for leaving as soon as possible.

* * *

Standing inside the holographic display generator, an image of the SGC formed in front of him, formed by the light reflections phasing and passing back through the wormhole, reprojected in front of him. Because of the Tau'ri iris, the image was transparent and faint, but it was detailed enough he could identify O'Neill before him. He seemed to be alone.

"Let me guess," O'Neill's voice came through strongly, "You've got more good news for us."

Asheron laid it out as much to the point as he could. They didn't have time for sarcasm right now. "A large portion of Baal's fleet is headed to Dakara. If he gets there and retakes it, Anubis is going to take possession of some kind of weapon left there by the Ancients. You need to destroy it before Baal gets there and the Kull take it over."

"Damn Ancients, yet more crap left around for us to deal with," O'Neill muttered. "What kind of weapon?"

Asheron shrugged. "I don't know. Baal said it was capable of destroying all life it touches, and it's easily capable of going through the wormhole and destroying Earth or Saphon, despite our shields."

"That would be bad," O'Neill agreed, then he frowned at Asheron. "You have to know this place is some kind of holy shrine to the Jaffa, and they're not going to want to blow it up."

Asheron shook his head urgently. "You need to explain it to them. Anubis wants to remake the galaxy in his own image, and that's going to require getting rid of things like rebellious Goa'uld underlings, Free Jaffa, and pesty humans first."

"And Tok'ra, too?" O'Neill asked, his gaze suddenly sharp on Asheron.

"Yes, us, too," Asheron confirmed. "He's ordered me to take command of the fleet against the Replicators. We're going to try to lure them to Tartarus so Anubis has no choice but oppose them. The odds of it working are not good," he admitted, more softly.

In that moment, as they looked at each other, for the first time, Asheron could find no hint of the usual mutual hostility. In fact, O'Neill's dark eyes seemed understanding and he nodded. "Good luck."

"You, too. Tell Sam ...," he hesitated, and then didn't want to say what he really wanted to tell her, adding, "... and Jacob I'm sorry I missed them." He gestured to the Jaffa at the projector to turn it off and stepped clear.

Putting aside thoughts of Earth and Dakara and Sam, he gathered Tel'nor in and they went to the transport rings, to head up to the ha'tak and begin their last ditch defense against the Replicators.

* * *

Inside the hidden chamber on Dakara, Sam knew what she was going to have to do just as soon as her father suggested changing the modulations of the output to match the Replicator disruptor. Because if they did that, they would also have to strike all the Replicators, everywhere, and the only way to do that was to dial all the gates at once. Only one person - one Goa'uld - knew how to do that. And he was also the only one who had studied Anubis' technology in any detail and might know a quicker way than trial and error to make the modifications.

But it wasn't until Baal was standing before her that she realized how much she wanted to hit him. Her hands curled into fists, and she glared at him, hating that he was there, hating that she had to ask for his help, and most of all hating that he seemed so smug about everything.

Jacob took point on the conversation, explaining what needed to be done and answering Baal's questions.

Finally her temper snapped, "Can you do it or not?"

He smirked. "Of course."

He certainly didn't lack for confidence, she observed sourly, as he moved forward to examine the panels. He glanced up at Sam and Jacob, and smiled again in clear amusement at their expense. "What?" she demanded.

"I cannot even believe I'm considering cooperating with two more Tok'ra." Then he paused and added smoothly, setting the hook and then twisting it, "Though I guess I should be used to it, after having one in my bed."

She felt the sting. "Shut up."

His smile widened, pleased at provoking her, and he said with so much dripping condescension she wanted to shoot him, "I imagine it must be difficult, knowing he chose me instead of you."

She whirled to face him, hands on her hips so she wouldn't slug a hologram, and retorted, "I imagine it must be difficult for _you_, knowing he stays only because you trapped him there, not because he wants to."

He shrugged it off, with a faint smile. "If it makes you feel better to think so..."

"You're just jealous," she realized, and laughed at him. "It eats at you that he stayed to free me, doesn't it?"

His eyes narrowed in anger, but before he could respond, Jacob intervened with the tone he'd used to stop her and Mark's frequent spats. "Stop. We don't have time for this. We need to get this fixed to kill Replicators, or we're all dead, and people on the front lines are going to be first."

She folded her arms and turned her back on Baal, while Jacob said to him, "Are you going to be helpful? Because provoking the two people who are going to save your ass, isn't very clever."

For an instant the anger stayed, like a spark just behind his dark eyes, but then the amiable mask returned. "I'm waiting on you, Tok'ra."

They worked together after that, exchanging information and trying to figure out the puzzle of how to change the output. Baal could read the panels, but it was still like programming a computer being able to read only the keyboard, so his guesses were only a little more educated than hers or Jacob's. He was also distracted by things happening on his ship, likely reports of the battle. The Jaffa had given him a truce and the two sides had withdrawn a little ways, but the Replicators were still out there, in ever growing numbers.

She focused on the work, trying to get the two waves to match and refusing to ask how Asheron's plan of drawing the Replicators to Tartarus was working.

Then a ripple went through Baal while he was pointing to suggest another panel to try, as he straightened and looked aside at nothing. He waved a hand and ordered, "Send it on this channel as well."

And then she heard Asheron's voice, "_The Replicators abruptly changed their heading. They are not heading toward Tartarus anymore; they stopped pursuing us and turned toward you. They're heading straight for Dakara."_

Sam's stomach dropped at the news. The Replicators were coming. She shared a glance of shared worry with Jacob, and they took a step toward each other.

Baal asked, "How long until they reach here?"

"_Two hours. Maybe. I have only three ships remaining. I'm pursuing, but I've used up all the tricks we can think of. They don't see us as any kind of threat anymore. I can't turn them aside."_

_"_Let them go," Baal ordered. "There is nothing more you can do, and we may need the ships later. Follow behind - this will all be over, over one way or another, when they come."

There was a brief hesitation and Asheron acknowledged simply, "_Understood. Asheron out_."

Baal turned to them and saw them standing there. "I suggest you continue before we are overrun. I will return when I have the finished chappa'ai protocol." His image disappeared, and Sam took a deep breath of the cool, dry air, glad he was gone.

"Now we can work," Jacob muttered and shook his head at their latest attempt. 28 percent. Not nearly close enough. "I don't know if we're going to get this in time, Sam."

"We have to," she said. She pulled in another deep breath and started pushing panels down again.

* * *

An hour passed, and Sam started to feel the time tick past in her bones. They'd gotten the variance down to eight percent, but were stuck there. No adjustment they tried brought it down more than that. And eight percent wasn't anywhere near close enough.

"Damn it," she swore wearily and took a drink from her canteen, staring balefully at the panels. "You'd think the Ascendants would be interested in helping us not all get destroyed, either by taking out Anubis or fixing this."

Jacob snorted. "They're not a very helpful bunch."

"Whereas I am very helpful," a smug voice sounded behind them, and Sam turned to see Baal back again. "The chappa'ai is prepared to dial all functioning gates in our galaxy. It will force an override to any established wormhole as well, to ensure the signal is transferred as widely as possible."

Sam tried not to show she was impressed and a little envious that he'd managed something she'd thought was impossible, and taunted, "So, what, you want a cookie?"

He folded his arms. "I had hoped you would be prepared with something to transmit, but I see you are not. You obviously need my help, Tok'ra."

"No, we don't," she snapped. "Go away."

"Sam," Jacob sighed. "We can't disdain his expertise, just because we hate his guts. So, go on, help." He waved a hand across the control panels.

Baal examined what they'd done, casting his gaze across the panels and the computer, and the attitude seemed to drop away for the moment as he thought about it. Then, with surprising decisiveness, he pointed to one of the panels. "That one."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam challenged.

He smirked at her. "I'm a god. Gods are all-knowing."

She rolled her eyes, realizing she'd fed him the line, but she pressed the panel to activate the symbol. As they waited for the result, Jacob said, "Oh, please, I have yet to read any decree of yours in the last four months that even mentions the false god propaganda. It's all 'emperor' and 'Supreme System Lord' titles."

Baal didn't object to it being called propaganda. He shrugged, unbothered. "It was an experiment. The Jaffa rebels' main argument is about how the Goa'uld are not 'true gods -- as if they have any idea what a true god would be -- " he rolled his own eyes in disdain, "so I thought to take that argument from them." Then he smiled, pleased. "Look. Six percent."

His gaze flickered to the side distracted by a new report, and his smile fell away. "The Replicators have appeared on the long-range sensors. There is little time. That one."

When he wasn't trying to be an ass, settling into business, he was far more tolerable, and she could finally sort of start to understand Asheron's attraction. He seemed to have figured out how the interface worked, because he led them swiftly down to one-point-eight percent with only one backtracking, when his image flickered.

"They are in system," he explained. "They are broadcasting an attempt to jam communications signals and possibly hack our computer systems. I may lose the transmission."

"Understood," she said, and pressed the panel he indicated. "One point six two. We're getting there. Just a little more."

He looked over the panels, frowning, fingers twitching with impatience. "The _jisil_ symbol. Where is it?" Then his image flickered again, and his attention was grabbed by a Jaffa whose arm strayed into the pickup range of the hologram giving the rather unnerving view of a detached arm and hand floating in the air. "They've begun their attack. The Jaffa Rebels have joined us, at least for the moment, and Asheron's fleet is nearly in system," he told her and Jacob.

"_Jisil_," Jacob said, looking, "that's this one." He pushed it and a few interminable seconds later, the result showed up on the computer. "One-three-two."

"Yes! Almost there."

Baal's image jerked as if he'd been rocked violently and the hologram fuzzed at the edges. "Our shield strength is weakening, I cannot maintain the transmission."

"We've got it, we're close enough," she told him. "Go. Fight them, give us as much time as you can."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the image vanished.

"Keep working," Sam said, hoping they'd have enough time.

* * *

Asheron sat in the throne of the pel'tak, Tel'nor at the main control station before him, as they came out of hyperspace into the Dakara system.

He'd never seen so many ha'taks in one place before -- they all seemed to be fighting each other, though it was easy enough to pick out the Replicator infested ships. Baal's ships and the Jaffa rebels were firing on them and attempting to evade them, neither with much success. "All ships, target the ship attacking Baal's command ship."

They did no damage to it, but they did give Baal's ship a chance to get out from under it. Then they fell under attack themselves, and unlike before, they couldn't evade. It was terribly frustrating to be unable to touch them significantly - even the one he'd nuked by crashing an al'kesh into it was still in operation after the explosion had torn off half the upper pyramid.

The ship rocked violently as the Replicators fired. "Shields are weakening, engines are off-line," Tel'nor reported. "And one Replicator vessel is landing near the temple."

He spared a thought for Sam and Jacob inside the temple, but there was nothing he could do to help them, as the ship rocked under another barrage and he could smell smoke coming through the vents.

"Life-support is out," Tel'nor confirmed. "Significant damage to the lower decks."

His hands tightened on the arms of the chair, and he wasn't surprised at all when the next report was that replicators were on board. He toggled the switch to all hands. "We've been boarded. Use whatever projectile weapons you have to hand. Zat'nik'tel and staff weapons are not effective."

Then he released the switch and looked Tel'nor, with a faint dark amusement. "Do we have any projectile weapons in here? Tau'ri guns, or the like?"

"No, my lord."

Asheron pulled the knife out of his sleeve. "I've got this. I don't think it's going to help much. That means we've got only one weapon left. The ship. And we can only use it before they grab control."

Tel'nor understood his intent right away and nodded soberly. "Yes, my lord."

Malek understood, too, and he agreed by sending his love, not arguing or objecting. *_I am here. We will give Sam and Jacob time.*_

*_I'm sorry I've been such a terrible, selfish host to you," _Asheron said to him, regret in these final minutes thickening his blood and making it hard to breathe.

*_Never, beloved. It has been my honor and my joy.*_

It gave him strength to stand up and give the order. "Set self-destruct and heading into the largest Replicator ship. Best speed with the thrusters you can manage."

* * *

Sam first felt the ground shake and then gunfire not long after to know they were rapidly getting out of time. She picked up her P90 and moved toward the entrance, peering out. But she heard them first, between the weapons fire -- the strange metallic chittering of the Replicators.

She shouted over her shoulder at her father. "They're here. Keep working."

He nodded, distracted. "So close. We just need a little more time. Point eight."

The Jaffa from outside rushed inside the Temple, unable to hold it anymore, and she joined them at the doorway, weapon ready.

Replicators moved into sight and Sam fired. Then there were more. And more. She fired until her clip was empty and then again.

Until they froze. They utterly stopped, and she stared at them in confusion. "They stopped!"

"Not anything I did!" Jacob shouted back.

Teal'c's voice came over her radio, "_Colonel Carter, did you activate the weapon?"_

She responded, "Negative, Teal'c. They froze down here, too."

The spell or programming hiccup ended, just as strangely and abruptly as it had come, and the Replicators surged forward again. Sam and the Jaffa beat them back, but only temporarily. They were skittering up above her, and she fired, making them drop down, but there were so many.

"Point seven-six, Sam!" her dad shouted.

"Do it!"

She didn't even have time to pray for it to be enough, as she fired frantically on a wave of bugs, retreating all the while, trying to keep them out of the inner room.

The only warning was a shrill tone, and then a massive blinding light washed across her vision and a strange tingle went through her body.

Blinking furiously, to try to clear her eyes, she looked down in stunned amazement at the pile of Replicator blocks at her feet. A lethal foe had just been transformed into inert blocks. The main room's floor was awash with them, inches deep.

She turned to face Jacob, grinning. "You did it!" Then her grin faltered, seeing him leaning against the console as if it was the only thing holding him up. "Dad?"

"I'm fine," he waved off her concern and straightened with effort. "Just tired. Did it work?"

She clicked her radio to find out. "Carter to Teal'c. What's your situation?"

"Replicators have disintegrated," Teal'c reported, sounding pleased. "Congratulations. Now we will turn to forcing Baal's surrender, while he is weakened."

She lowered her P90, now sure it was over, and exchanged a glance with Jacob. "Good luck with that, Teal'c. Carter out."

* * *

Asheron saw the wave come off the planet, and then it was on them, through them, and the one Replicator that had come onto the pel'tak fell apart.

"Abort self-destruct," he ordered urgently.

Tel'nor reported, with a breath of relief, "Done, my lord. None of the infected ships are moving. I detect no Replicator signals, but there is activity from the Rebel Jaffa."

Asheron shut his eyes for a moment, wearily. "They don't really want to battle right here, right now, do they? Can't we just enjoy our shared victory for two minutes and fight later?"

Tel'nor ignored the sour humor and frowned, "I am not receiving any transmissions from the flagship. I believe the rebels may be jamming us."

Asheron resumed his seat. "Status?"

"Our shields are down. Engines are still off-line, repairs expected soon. Weapons are still functional."

He didn't want to fight them, but he couldn't go anywhere. "Status of Baal's ship?"

"Likewise weakened, but intact," Tel'nor answered promptly. "The ship is not moving. Teal'c is hailing him."

"Demanding surrender, no doubt," Asheron said. The rebel Jaffa ships were in better condition, with shields and weapons. He knew Baal's plan of last resort - his ha'tak had a cloaked al'kesh shadowing it somewhere nearby, and Baal could use his Asgard-designed transporter to flee to it.

He fingered the silver bracelet around one wrist. All it would take was to push the activator, and he could leave the ship to join Baal.

Part of him wanted to go. He ached with the desire to go after him, to join him, to celebrate their victory over the Replicators and the sheer lust of being alive.

His fingers hovered over the bracelet, but in the end, he dropped his hand back down to the arms of the chair. If he didn't leave now, he never would. Sam, Jacob, and the other Tau'ri were close by. There was no better chance.

*_I want to go home,*_ Malek murmured.

*_Earth isn't our home.* _He didn't verbalize, but was sure Malek could feel his certainty that Jacob and Sam would never accept him, after what he'd done, and who he'd been with.

But nevertheless he remained still as the Jaffa poured into the room. Tel'nor and the four other Jaffa of the pel'tak tensed to try to defend him, but he said loudly, "No. We will not fight. The battle is lost."

The rebels held their weapons on him, silently. He frowned a little, wondering what was going on. The rebel Jaffa seemed to be waiting for something.

The door opened and a Jaffa master entered. He was tall and graying, wearing a priest's robe instead of warrior garb, but marked as the First Prime of Montu. Montu had mostly been a servant of Ra, and this Jaffa wasn't anyone familiar.

*_Malek, do you know him?*_

*_His name is Gerak, I believe. I know only that he was a capable warrior, follower of the old ways, and very fervent in his beliefs of Montu and Ra's supremacy. I am surprised he would be one of the Jaffa rebels, though perhaps Ra's defeat and death cast a deep disillusionment over him.*_

But there was no time for more, as Gerak looked at Asheron, who was standing before the throne. "Where did Baal go?" he demanded abruptly.

"He's on the other ship," Asheron answered, and started down the steps. He froze as the rebel Jaffa lifted their staff weapons in definite threat.

"There is no need for this," Asheron said, trying a smile. "We're on the same side. My name is -- "

Gerak cut him off, "Your name means nothing to me, Goa'uld. All I care about is where your master is. He will face our vengeance, and I will destroy him. If you get between me and my revenge, I will destroy you, too."

"I'm not a Goa'uld," Asheron protested.

"You are his mate, yes?" the Jaffa demanded, and grimaced in disgust. "You know where he has gone, and you will tell me."

Asheron felt very cold suddenly, and he knew he had made a terrible mistake staying behind.

"I'm a Tok'ra," he exclaimed desperately.

The Jaffa snorted once, not believing him. "Tok'ra. There are no Tok'ra left. And if there were, they certainly wouldn't be bedding Baal." He raised his hand. "Jaffa, take him. Don't kill him. I need him to answer questions."

"No," Asheron said, stepping backward as the Jaffa began to gather around him. "You don't understand -- "

The first Jaffa tried to stab his staff weapon forward into Asheron's gut and Asheron couldn't help but raise a hand to knock it aside.

"My lord!" Tel'nor exclaimed and even though he was unarmed, threw himself at the rebels. The others followed him. And the rebels turned against them all in a fury. He heard a staff weapon fire, and Tel'nor fell, his eyes wide and agonized.

"Tel'nor!" Asheron hit the nearest rebel across the face and grabbed for his staff weapon, furious that they'd just hurt his friend.

Then something hit him across the back, and he stumbled, falling to his knees, choking on the pain.

Malek took over, blocking the pain and getting them back to their feet. He threw one good punch, but there were too many. They grabbed him and hit him, until he couldn't breathe.

Pain swelled through him, too strong for Malek to stop. Finally, someone zatted him.

His last thought was of Baal and the soft touch of his hands, until the darkness pulled the memory away and shredded it into nothingness.

* * *

Sam stirred around her mashed potatoes. Across the table, Jacob did the same and then put down his fork. "Any news?" he asked, though he must have known she'd have told him, if she'd heard anything.

She shook her head. "No." No news of Daniel. No news of Asheron. At least she could hope that Asheron and Malek had escaped with Baal, but Daniel... Sighing, she put down her fork, too. "You're not hungry either?" she asked him, frowning a bit in concern. He hadn't been eating much lately, rather like he'd done when he was sick, and the reminders were making her nervous.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"And Selmak?" she asked, pushing her dinner away to grab the Jell-o glass. "He's been very quiet lately." Actually, she realized with a sudden chill down her spine, Selmak hadn't spoken at all since Dakara, two weeks ago. "Dad? What's going on?"

"Nothing, kiddo. Everything's fine." But she knew that face - she remembered it from D.C. before he'd decided to tell her he had cancer.

"Bullshit, " she said succinctly. "Something's going on. C'mon, Dad, you're worrying me. Daniel's missing..."

"That's why I didn't want to worry you anymore," Jacob said, confirming her bad feeling that something was wrong. "With Daniel presumed dead, and Malek missing, I didn't want to add to what you're already carrying."

Fear became a sudden cold stone in her stomach and she stared at him. "Dad?" she asked in a small voice, staring at him. "Is there something wrong with you? Something Selmak can't fix after all?"

He shook his head, and for an instant she was relieved, and then he said, "it's Selmak. He's dying, Sam."

"What?" she shook her head in denial and clutched the stem of the Jell-o cup. Within, even Turan sensed her mood, growing nervous.

"We're not sure why," he said, "though we think it has something to do with Netu. But he's lived a full life, Sam, and his only regret is being unable to stay for you and teach young Turan. You'll have to be her teacher."

"But -- you--"

He shook his head once, sadly. "I begged him to stay, Sam," he admitted in a murmur. "He would've died weeks ago, and let me go on, but I thought we needed him. Two weeks ago, he slipped into a coma. He doesn't have the strength to spare me, and I don't want to be spared anyway."

"I can heal you," she offered. "I have Turan, I can use the healing device..." But he was already shaking his head.

"Selmak said it wouldn't work. And it's far too late now."

"But you can't be saying ..." she stammered.

"When Selmak goes, so will I," he answered softly. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't want it to happen this way."

She stared blankly at the red gelatin in the glass, trying to understand. Selmak was dying, and her father was dying.

Jacob came out of his chair, and rounded the table to lean down and wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, everything's going to be okay, Sam. I wouldn't trade these past years with Selmak and with you, seeing all the wonderful things I've seen for anything."

She put her head on his shoulder, wrapped both hands around his nearest arm, and let him hold her.

Two days later, Selmak died, and Jacob followed soon after, lying on a bed in the infirmary. Sam was at his side and held his hand as he slipped away. Not even the news that Daniel was back and Anubis was defeated was enough to pierce the veil of numbness. In her head, Turan keened, feeling her grief and echoing back to her - ordinarily, Sam would've tried to soothe her, but for now, she wrapped herself in their joint sorrow and didn't want to let it go.

She stared at the Stargate, angry at it for giving her father back to her and then snatching him away again.

But the Stargate wasn't finished snatching things away.

* * *

Another week crept by. An unscheduled activation turned out to be a communication, for her. Sam watched it on the screen in the briefing room, with Daniel at her side.

It was Baal, and Sam watched it in growing dismay.

The Goa'uld's expression seemed very tight, and his eyes were dark and angry. "_I give Asheron to your keeping, Samantha Carter. For now. He is safer with you than with me. But when this current… " his lips twisted and he spat, "obstacle has passed, I will take him back. Asheron belongs with me. Try not to neglect him so thoroughly this time_," he warned, and the image blinked off.

She stared at where it had been. She felt like some precious vase she'd thought hidden on a high shelf out of her reach had just fallen and shattered at her feet.

"Sam?" Daniel asked, sounding puzzled by her reaction. "Are you okay?"

She could only shake her head, clutching the table. Too much. This was too much. Not him, too.

"But I thought -- " Daniel started and his tongue got tangled on his confusion. "You should be pleased. He's not with Baal anymore."

She opened her mouth and forced the words out, "But I don't have him. The Jaffa didn't find him on the ships. Baal doesn't have him. So where is he, Daniel?"

"Maybe he ran away from all of us," Daniel suggested. "He took a tel'tak and left."

She wanted to believe it. But she didn't. The Free Jaffa had swarmed the command ha'taks and shot down anything in space around Dakara. Baal had escaped only because he'd been beamed away onto a special cloaked ship. Her hope had been that Asheron had transported to that al'kesh, too, when he hadn't shown up as a prisoner of the Jaffa. But now she was positive he wasn't with Baal after all.

And that left only one option.

"He's dead," she murmured and stood up. "He and Malek are dead, too. Turan and I are the last of the Tok'ra." Numb fingers reached up to her shoulder and ripped off the SG-1 patch, laying it down on the conference table.

"I'm done," she said, to no one in particular. Maybe to their ghosts, if they were around.

The Stargate had taken everything from her. There was nothing left.

.

* * *

_TBC..._

_This ends the first part. Part two takes a darker turn as the story heads into Season 9. _

_I'd love to hear what people think, now that we've finished "season 8"! Anyone? Someone?_


	10. Chapter 10

**PART TWO: The City of the Lost**

**Chapter Ten**

With Rak'nor at his side, backed up by four others, Teal'c moved through the corridors of Dakara, heading downward. He tried to show nothing on his face, not his anger and not his worry, but from Rak'nor's sideways glance, realized it was not succeeding. But then Rak'nor was concerned and angry as well -- if what they both suspected was true, it was not only a terrible dishonor to an ally, but might break the infant Jaffa nation before it had even begun.

When Ke'lal had come to them that she had heard that Gerak was keeping a secret Goa'uld prisoner, Teal'c had felt the first stirrings of dread. The Goa'uld could not be that important, or Gerak would have displayed him. A little more investigation drew forth that the Goa'uld had been captured at the fall of Dakara to the Jaffa, more than three months ago. He was being held to force out the location of his master Baal, but the underling still refused to speak. Or did not know.

Teal'c had been nearly unable to keep his emotions in check. He suspected he knew who the prisoner was. If so, then it was a terrible thing that had happened nearly right before him.

Rak'nor suspected the same, and they had gathered up a few followers and, while the rest of council was in session, had marched down to the level.

Teal'c had not let anyone get in his way, warning anyone who dared with a dark look to step aside. The last guards had been more stubborn, but Rak'nor had dropped them with a quick shot of a zat'nik'tel before they could react.

Teal'c fired his staff weapon at the lock on the door, gave the weapon to Ar'zel to hold, and ducked beneath the low doorway.

The stench was thick and rank. But Teal'c let none of it bother him as he walked to the filthy figure seated on the floor, one wrist chained to the back wall. His head lolled forward, and his bare torso showed every bone in stark relief, and the skin was pallid, except where it was marred by injuries. The shoulder of his free arm was grotesquely swollen and seemed to be at an odd angle. Long matted hair fell across his face hiding most of it, and was further covered by a growth of beard, bruised cheek, and a split lip, but Teal'c knew who it was.

"Is it… ?" Rak'nor asked in a soft, horrified voice as he stepped inside.

"It is," Teal'c answered in a calm voice, hoping not to startle the prisoner, who did not seem to hear them at all. He knelt on the ground before him and reached out to his chin and gently raise his head. "Malek of the Tok'ra, Asheron, can you hear me?"

The eyes were closed and did not flicker at either the touch or the sound of his voice. Yet he was breathing regularly, so he still lived, if barely.

"We will free him," Teal'c declared. The manacle had only a latch on it, but it was surely impossible for him to open, as several fingers on each hand looked broken.

Rak'nor helped take him from the wall, both trying to be as gentle as possible. Rak'nor hissed, on seeing the sores and scarlet gouges from a flail on his back. Teal'c wrapped him in his cloak, hoping the cloth would warm him and stave off shock. Then, he picked him up, cradling him in his arms. Asheron was tall, but he now weighed no more than Rya'c had at ten years old, so the body was little burden.

"What are we going to do?" Rak'nor asked.

Jaw clenched with anger, Teal'c answered shortly, "Confront Gerak. This dishonor cannot pass, Rak'nor. This is no enemy, but an ally. Had he not kept this a secret, we could have informed him of his error." He paused to consider and added, "If in fact it is error at all."

Because he had to wonder darkly if Gerak knew exactly who he had been torturing and didn't care. But Teal'c did. And every single Jaffa who was now free of their primm'ta and took Tretonin instead, cared.

The journey to the council chambers continued swiftly and Rak'nor opened the doors.

Gerak was, at that moment, declaiming something dramatic in the center circle, but stopped when he heard the doors open. Before he could speak, Teal'c did, raising his voice so that all could hear.

"Now we will speak of your dishonor, Gerak," he declared and was grimly satisfied by the shock on the other faces. He had chosen the words for their impact, knowing he had no better time to try to bring down Gerak's power. Looking around he met the eyes of many who were there, including Ke'lal who was attempting to look as shocked as the others, but was not. She had suspected this as well -- that was why she had told him.

"Moments ago, Rak'nor and I discovered this man, imprisoned in the sublevel. He has been captive in secret since the victory in the sky above this place, nearly four months ago." Gently, Teal'c laid the body in his arms down on the nearest council table and pulled back a fold to display the injuries and nearly skeletal body. "He has been tortured and starved."

Gerak retorted loudly, over the sound of a few whispers and indrawn breaths, "And such do all Goa'uld deserve! And more if they refuse to speak!"

Teal'c turned on him and took one step forward, allowing Gerak to see his fury. "This man is no Goa'uld. As you would know if you had informed the council of this man's capture. He is a Tok'ra."

"There are no more Tok'ra," Gerak spat. "You said so yourself, Teal'c. And if there were, what matter? He was Baal's **mate**, with information on Baal's location."

"He is Tok'ra," Teal'c repeated. "A spy for the Tau'ri. He sacrificed much to give us information about Baal and Anubis' plans. I know him well. As does Rak'nor. But others know of him: Master Bra'tac. Cor'zel. Ke'lal," he nodded to her once politely in acknowledgment. "Many others as well. Because this Tok'ra is Malek, who made the tretonin which allows so many of our brothers and sisters to live free of our dependence on the primm'ta!"

The last he had to almost shout to be heard over the shocked exclamations. They started to die down and he continued, "But the dishonor does not stop there. Because Malek's host is honored by all Jaffa, though for many years his identity was kept secret from everyone. This man -- " Teal'c laid a gentle hand on his forehead, which felt like hot paper, not skin, "is Asheron of Inannar, the Slayer of Ishtar."

Gerak tried, Teal'c had to grant him the effort. He saw his support crumbling before his eyes and had to shout his accusation, "It is a lie! He is a Goa'uld -- "

Rak'nor stepped forward. "He is not," he declared quietly but no less forcefully. Any doubts he had held about Asheron's loyalties seemed to have been set aside by the brutality. "That he is Malek there is no doubt. Nor is there doubt that he created Jaffa tretonin."

"Nor is there doubt that he is Asheron the Last King of Naritania. Go to Inannar," Teal'c challenged. "I have. Speak to the people there, who revere him as their savior. See his image graven on their coins and his portrait in the inns and shops. That is," he added with a deliberate glance at Asheron on the table, "if you can recognize him beneath the horror he has endured these past fourteen weeks."

With slow care, he folded his cloak again to cover Asheron, pausing briefly when he noticed that the dark eyes were half-open. The gaze held no awareness and soon drifted closed, but it gave Teal'c some small measure of hope.

Teal'c picked him up again, careful of the damaged shoulder. "I will take him through the Stargate to the Tau'ri for medical assistance." He fixed Gerak with a glare. "I will return."

* * *

Daniel was just in time to watch Teal'c come through the gate. He wondered what had happened with the council meeting to bring Teal'c back so early.

Teal'c was carrying a body wrapped in his outer cloak in his arms and wasted no time calling out for a medical team to the gateroom. Daniel rushed forward, wondering who it was and hoping it wasn't Rya'c or Ishta.

"Teal'c."

"Daniel Jackson." Teal'c stopped at the bottom of the ramp, in front of Daniel, and he nodded downward. "I have found Asheron. Alive."

Daniel blinked, taken back by the declaration. For the past months, ever since receiving that threat from Baal, they had all assumed that Asheron and Malek had been killed aboard one of Baal's ships.

Then Daniel got a good look at his face. "Oh my God," he whispered. It was hard to see that it was Asheron under the injuries and generally awful physical condition. Worse, Daniel could see that it had to be deliberate -- someone had hurt him. Daniel swallowed hard and glanced up at Teal'c face, noting the clenched jaw and glaring eyes of fury, contrasting with how gently he seemed to cradle the fallen Tok'ra against him. "Where did you find him?"

A muscle jumped in Teal'c's jaw and it took him a moment to answer. "Dakara," he answered unexpectedly, but Daniel had no time to ask about it as the medical team entered in a rush, followed by Landry.

"What happened?" Doctor Lam asked, as she gestured Teal'c to put him down on the gurney. Then she got a good look and her eyes widened. "Oh," she whispered.

"He has been tortured, Doctor Lam," Teal'c told her simply.

She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders, calling up every last gram of medical training. "Right, I can see that." She ordered the med techs, "Come on, let's get him upstairs."

Before she left, Daniel caught her shoulder. She rounded on him, dislodging his hand. He spoke, "Doctor, you should know, he's a Tok'ra."

She blinked in surprise and then frowned, looking at her patient again. Then she just nodded and escorted the gurney out.

"Teal'c?" Landry asked, inviting explanation.

"That is Malek of the Tok'ra," Teal'c said. "Gerak has had him captive since the battle at Dakara. He _**claims**_he believed Malek was a Goa'uld."

Teal'c clearly did not believe the claim, Daniel saw. "But why?" Daniel asked in confusion and disbelief. "I mean, even if that was true, what information could he possibly have that would be worth _**that**_?"

"Gerak believed that Asheron would know where Baal has fled, after the defeat of Anubis."

"Why would he -- " Landry started and then stopped. His mouth compressed in a tight line of distaste or disapproval as he obviously recalled why this particular Tok'ra would know anything about Baal. "Right. Well, he obviously resisted."

"Or just didn't know." Daniel sighed. He knew as well as anyone that interrogators rarely believed "I don't know" as an answer, even if it was true. "In any case, he looked bad."

Teal'c nodded his agreement but said nothing more. No doubt Doctor Lam would tell them his condition. But Daniel knew there was another task to do. He shared a glance with Teal'c. "We have to tell Sam."

The news would hit her hard. His apparent death, on top of her father's, had hit too hard, and she'd left, taking a post at Area 51, to get closer to Cassie at UNLV, but mostly Daniel thought, to get away from the SGC. She would be overjoyed to learn Asheron and Malek were still alive, but she would definitely be upset by his condition. She might even feel guilty for presuming him dead, without looking for him.

Not for the first time, Daniel wished that Jack hadn't hit that "never leave people behind" maxim quite so often. Because sometimes people got left behind anyway, and blaming oneself never made anyone feel better.

Teal'c agreed with another nod. "I must return to Dakara," he said with some regret. "Gerak must not escape this action. But I will return as soon as I am able."

* * *

About two hours later, Daniel and Landry were waiting in the general's office for Doctor Lam to report. She entered and closed the door behind her, taking the seat next to Daniel at the general's wave.

She sat pin-straight, her hands loosely clasping the file folder on her lap. Glancing around as if she expected to see Teal'c, she accepted his absence without question and got to the point immediately. "He's unconscious, nearly comatose. His overall condition I would characterize as critical. He's very weak, undernourished and dehydrated. He had very little food or water the entire time of his captivity and this has strained his whole body. His blood panels came back with just about everything too low. I've got him on an i.v. to try to straighten that out and with any luck he'll rouse to eat before I have to put in a feeding tube."

Daniel frowned. "I thought you'd put one in right away?"

She gave him a glance that was half-impatience, but bit back whatever was her first response, and explained, "If you give a person who's starved too many calories too quickly their digestive system will automatically process it, depleting the body's minerals, including vital electrolytes and phosphorus that the heart and circulation system need to function. This can cause arrhythmia and cardiac arrest. That's why the rule is to rehydrate and re-feed slowly, with constant supervision."

After she saw that he understood, she continued, reporting to Landry, "But on top of all that, he has injuries, too: his left shoulder's the worst. It's dislocated and was left that way, probably for weeks. This caused extensive soft tissue damage. I can't --" she paused and bit her lip, in one of the few expressions of distress she allowed herself, "imagine how painful that must have been. Additionally," she glanced down at the paper clipped to the top of the folder, "five fingers were dislocated and fractured, and at least two of the fingers on his left hand have significant nerve damage. His cheekbone and two ribs were fractured as well. There are many half-healed cuts, burns and other contusions. Basically, as Teal'c said," she summarized, "he was tortured. Extensively, over a long period of time."

She paused, inhaled a deep breath, and spoke again, "I've put him on a morphine drip for now. The shoulder and the hands will need an orthopedic consult and probably surgery to be fixed, but not until he's stronger."

Again she stopped, and after a moment, Landry prompted gently, "Is that everything?"

She shook her head and straightened up again, as if bracing herself against his sympathy. "No. His shoulder has signs of infection, even though his endocrine system is depressed so there's hardly any immune response. I have him on strong antibiotics, just in case the infection has become systemic. I won't know that until his cultures come back. But he's definitely at risk for septic shock. Given his condition, I doubt he would survive it."

Daniel listened to her litany and felt his heart sink with pity for his friend. Three months of utter hell, in supposedly **friendly** hands. How was he going to come out of this?

There was only one way -- with the support of his symbiote and everyone else who cared for him. Which brought up that Lam hadn't mentioned the symbiote in her catalog of horrors. "What about Malek?" Daniel asked, "The symbiote?"

Dr. Lam seemed less certain of her ground, glancing at the folder as if to refresh her memory. "Well, he's there. Alive, but unresponsive. His low EEG readings indicate that he's probably just as weak. There appear to be abnormal contusions of some kind on the CT scan, but I'm not sure yet what they indicate."

Landry leaned back, mulled over what she said, and folded his hands. "So, your prognosis?"

She shook her head. "Without that symbiote he probably would have died of renal failure some time ago. But as it is," she gave a small shrug and a look at Landry that Daniel read as challenging, "I don't have any experience with how well Tok'ra recover, so I can't predict anything. I'll do what I can. In fact, I'm going to go find Doctor Fraiser's notes right now." She rose to her feet.

"Doctor," Daniel spoke up, biting his lip. "Check her files on the time when Apophis was here. If I remember right, she saw something similar on the symbiote then." He hoped he was wrong, since Apophis had died of it. Malek had no sarcophagus, even supposing he'd use it.

She nodded her thanks and glanced at Landry. "If that's all, general?"

"Of course," he answered. "Keep me posted."

She slipped out. Landry let out a soft sigh when she was gone, and then looked at Daniel. "And there's no one to ask is there? Malek is the last of the Tok'ra."

Daniel nodded soberly. It wasn't precisely true, since Turan was still alive, but she was an infant symbiote. Of the mature offspring of Egeria, Malek was the last.

As he was walking back to his office, Daniel realized that Sam was probably the only chance Asheron and Malek had to survive, since she was the only person on Earth who could use the healing device.

Daniel was quite sure Baal would also be willing to help, but no one knew where he was, except maybe Asheron himself. Even if Asheron woke enough to answer, Daniel couldn't imagine the cruelty of asking him the same question that the Jaffa had probably asked him over and over again.

So Sam was his main hope. But Daniel was not looking forward to telling her.

It didn't take long to set up the secure vid link to her office at Area 51. She smiled brightly at him, pleased to hear from him. "Hey, Daniel! What's happening?"

"Hi, Sam. I have some news for you. Are you alone?"

She glanced around to check and turned back to the camera, nodding. "Yes. Why? What's going on?"

He bit his lip, unsure of how to say it. Then he took a deep breath before she guessed and said, "Teal'c found Asheron, Sam."

She stared at him for so long, he wondered if the video feed had frozen. But then she blinked rapidly and moved her lips trying to frame her question. "Found him?" she repeated. "His… his body?" she asked faintly.

Realizing what she'd misunderstood, he shook his head and reassured her, "No, no, Sam. I'm sorry. I should've been clearer. Teal'c found Asheron alive. He and Malek are alive. And they're here right now, at the SGC. Teal'c brought him through the gate a few hours ago."

Her expression lit with joy and she put a hand to her chest as though she couldn't breathe or her heart was pounding so hard, she was trying to calm it. "He's there? How is he? Where's he been? Why did he disappear?"

He let her anxious questions dwindle, until she realized that something was wrong. "Daniel?" she asked, her gaze suddenly darkening with fear.

"Sam, it's not good," he admitted. "Teal'c found him on Dakara. Gerak took him prisoner at Baal's defeat and has been holding him ever since in some secret dungeon. Gerak tortured him, apparently to find out where Baal's hiding."

She mouthed "torture", and her eyes were wide with shock and horror. "How… how bad is it?" she made herself ask.

"Bad. He needs you to come use the healing device," he said simply. "He's hurt and unconscious. Malek's very weak too."

She didn't ask for more details.

* * *

Sam got off the first elevator on eleven and found Daniel there, waiting for her. "I got here as soon as I could," she said. She had wanted to use the _Prometheus _to beam her here, but it had been out of reach. So she'd been forced to take conventional transportation, cursing every second she'd been going too slowly through the air.

She hurriedly signed in, and went to meet him at the second elevator. "How is he?"

Daniel shook his head a little. "No change. Still hanging in there, which Doctor Lam seems to think is a good sign."

In the elevator she leaned back against the wall and drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. "So, it's bad?" she asked Daniel, trying to prepare herself.

He nodded slowly, gaze sympathetic on her. "Yeah. He looks a little better now, since the staff cleaned him up, but it's still terrible."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "We can fix it," she said, with as much confidence as she could find.

"I'm sure you can, Sam," Daniel said, and there was not a shred of doubt in his face, which she appreciated.

"I can't believe he's still alive. I was so sure..." she trailed off, realizing how wrong she'd been. "God, Daniel, we didn't even look."

Daniel's hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed. "Sam, we wouldn't have found him, even if we'd looked. Remember Teal'c and Bra'tac asked after Dakara whether any of the Jaffa had seen Asheron, and no one said anything. Gerak kept it such a tight secret it took this long just for word to filter to the Ke'lal that he had a prisoner."

Which she knew, but didn't really help. "But why?" she burst out. "What did he hope to gain by keeping it a secret?"

"I gather he thought Asheron was his route to Baal - the little fish he could keep secret and use to capture the big fish."

Her lips twisted in disgust. "And parade Baal in front of the council. Everyone would be so pleased they'd never ask where the intel came from. Is Gerak really that much like Kinsey?"

"Well, Teal'c and Rak'nor are dealing with him," Daniel said, and she felt a bit of vindictive pleasure at the thought.

But then the elevators opened and she felt apprehensive about stepping out. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the infirmary, thankful for Daniel at her side.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asked softly at the door.

She shook her head, hands clutching each other. "I'll be fine. I just want to see. By myself."

"Okay," he squeezed her shoulder warmly. "Just remember, he's not awake. Even if he opens his eyes, Doctor Lam's got him on some strong stuff, and she said it's not likely he's able to respond. I'll be right outside."

She nodded once, swallowed and went into the ICU. At first all she saw was the equipment, the monitors and tubes and wires, and the white sheets of the bed.

Then somehow her gaze finally decided to find Asheron, as she moved two unwilling steps toward the bed. Her hand went to her mouth to hold in a cry of dismay. She could only stand there and look.

Daniel had told her, but she hadn't imagined it right.

He'd always had strong facial bones, but now looked emaciated. One cheek was yellowish and swollen from an old bruise, but the other was sunken deeply like his eyes, just skin over his skull. His lips had been split several times. But worse, the sheet was drawn halfway up his chest, allowing her unobstructed view of prominent collar bones, ribs, and his shoulder, which looked badly inflamed and was so puffy, it seemed like it should belong to someone else. There was livid bruising on his chest from multiple beatings, and long welts from whippings.

His hands were on top of the sheet, one of them held across his chest in a sling for the shoulder. Both hands were bandaged and splinted, except for one finger that had another monitor attached.

He had an oxygen cannula in his nose, a subclavian i.v inserted into the hollow of his good shoulder, and EKG monitoring pads stuck to his chest. There were smaller pads and wires attached to the back of his neck that wound their way to another monitor, showing Malek's activity.

She glanced at the monitors, able to read most of their readouts after so many trips to the infirmary. Slow but steady pulse. His blood pressure seemed low, but his temperature was a little high, signs that he wasn't that well. Still, he was hanging in there.

But, she reminded herself, he was Tok'ra. If Malek was able, he should be able to heal his host, and he hadn't.

Her eyes settled on his hair, which had been cleaned and cut short. There were silver strands all through it that had not been there before.

Aged as a Tok'ra shouldn't be. Hurt, again and again. He'd been held in a dark place, tortured by those who were supposed to be his allies. Even if she managed to help him physically with the healing device, how was he going to recover from the rest?

"You're going to be okay," she whispered to him, wanting so badly to hold his hand but caressing his cheek instead. "You're going to be all right," she promised, as her eyes felt hot with unshed tears and she had to struggle to get the breath through the lump in her throat.

She touched his hair gently, thinking that might be the only part of him that didn't hurt and several strands came off on her fingers. Somehow that was too much and the tears sprang free, rolling down her cheeks. She bent down, hiding her face in the corner of his neck and good shoulder, her cheek against his skin. She wanted so much for him to sit up and reassure her that everything was going to be fine, that he was okay, and to take her in his arms and hold her.

But he lay there, utterly still, while she let out all the grief that had been festering inside her for so long, not just for Asheron but for Janet and her father, too.

When she finally stopped, she wiped her eyes with her hands and looked around for a tissue to blow her nose. An unfamiliar, pretty Asian woman in a white coat was standing nearby, holding a box of tissues.

She saw she had Sam's attention and stepped forward, holding out the box. "Doctor Carolyn Lam. I presume you're Colonel Carter?"

Sam nodded and took two tissues. "Thank you. That's right. Sam Carter." She wiped her eyes again and her nose, rising on shaky legs to deposit the tissues in the trash.

The doctor scanned Asheron's monitors, making a few notations in his chart. When she'd finished, she suggested, "If you'll follow me to my office, colonel? I think we should talk there."

Sam agreed, gave Asheron a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back," she whispered.

The CMO's office was plain and government issue, except for a single photo of the doctor with an older Asian woman, presumably Lam's mother. She took her seat and gestured for Sam to sit in the chair across from her. "I understand you're planning to use the Goa'uld healing device."

"If I need to," Sam answered with a glance at Asheron's chart, which the doctor put on the desk.

"Unfortunately I don't think you have much choice," Doctor Lam answered. She paused and elaborated, "His symbiote is dying."

The words were like a punch to the chest. Sam just shook her head in wordless denial. Malek couldn't die. Couldn't. Not like Selmak.

"My understanding is that it's not necessarily fatal to the host," Lam said, maybe in some attempt at reassurance though her tone was cool and factual. "You're proof of that. But I've also read that dying symbiotes release a toxin into the blood, unless they specifically choose not to. Malek may not be well enough to choose."

Sam shook her head and answered, "It doesn't matter." She had to clear her throat to get her voice up above a whisper. "I don't think Asheron could survive Malek's death. Maybe not before this happened, if he was well, but definitely not now. Not after this." Weakly she gestured toward the chart.

"No, probably not," Lam agreed. "So I've had the healing device brought here for you. But it would be best if you could focus on the most important problems first."

Sam, remembering her own ill-fated attempt to heal Daniel's radiation sickness, nodded her understanding. That was the error she'd made then, trying to make him all better all at once.

Lam went on, "I'm not sure how specific you can be...?" she trailed off and looked inquiringly at Sam, who had to lick her lips.

"I don't know. I may be a host myself now, but I don't think that's going to help much. I don't have a lot of practice."

"Well, obviously all you can do is your best. I'll tell you what's priority and if you can concentrate on that first, then that would be better. The first thing you need to do is help Malek, since if we lose him, it's over. Next is the infection in his shoulder. If it's not already in his lungs, it will be, and pneumonia in someone this weakened is going to be fatal."

Sam tried to listen to the doctor, but the words kept bouncing around in her mind, not settling. Malek was dying. If she didn't save him, Asheron was going to die. If she didn't cure the infection, they were both going to die. She had believed him dead before, and now he might die anyway, right in front of her.

Lam stopped and her face softened. "I'm sorry. That's probably enough. Just don't try to fix it all. His condition is very critical, I won't lie to you, but he's hung on this long. That's a good indicator of a strong will to live and sometimes that can work near miracles."

Sam nodded. She rubbed her face with both hands. "And mentally?" she lifted it to ask, dreading the answer.

The doctor hesitated. "Frankly, the psychological aspect is far outside my expertise," she admitted. "He's going to need a doctor with training in post-trauma treatment. In general, though, recovery won't be easy and it won't be quick, that much I can tell you. But how much Malek can help, I can't guess."

Sam thought of Asheron's frequent nightmares of Ishtar and was pretty sure the answer was not much.

* * *

Sam slid the healing device over her hand so it fit snugly into her palm and put the other hand on top to steady it. Then staring at Asheron's pale, bruised face, she took deep breaths to focus. She kept thinking about what Doctor Lam had said, about how he and Malek were dying, and remembering how she'd tried to heal Daniel and failed miserably.

Malek and Asheron needed her, she had to calm down. She shut her eyes and tried to think of the device. It started to feel warm in her hand.

Malek. Asheron's shoulder. His hands. Infection. All those bruises and cuts and burns. He looked so terrible; he'd suffered so much, she wanted to help him... The energy flowed through her, rising in her body and down her arm to pass through the device and into him.

He made a sound and her eyes flew open, to see that his lips had parted to draw deeper breaths. Excited, she drew more energy and sent it to him, healing.

Then abruptly someone was shaking her, breaking her concentration. She tried to shrug off the interruption and keep going, but then she was shoved away. Someone ordered, "Colonel Carter, stop!"

The energy snapped back into her with a jolt and she was dazed. "What?"

Lam grabbed her shoulder and turned her forcibly from the bed. "He's crashing. You need to move. Someone take her out of here!"

One of the nurses pushed Sam back as the doctor and the rest of the med team gathered around Asheron's body on the bed. She heard someone say 'no pulse', and then Lam called for CPR. Then the doors closed in front of her face, shutting out the sight and sound of the horror inside.

She stared at the doors for a long time, until Daniel appeared at her side and gently urged her away with a hand on her shoulder. "What happened?" he asked.

"It was working," she answered, in a voice that she could barely push out of her throat. She waved the healing device, and it felt so, so heavy at the end of her arm. "I could feel it. But it must have been too much, too fast. He arrested."

Daniel's hand tightened on her shoulder. She swallowed and her fingers restlessly traced the ridges on the bottom of the healing device. "I think I killed him," she whispered.

Daniel pulled her close. "Just wait, Sam. It might be okay."

She put her head on Daniel's shoulder and clutched at the back of his jacket with both hands. His arms went around her, and she tried to breathe. Just breathe.

* * *

_tbc..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven **

* * *

The doors swung open finally and Sam jumped to her feet from the hard, plastic chair. Her lungs seemed tight and small in her chest, as she saw Lam come through.

But the doctor gave her a quick smile that relieved Sam immediately. The doctor wouldn't smile at all if there was bad news. "He gave us a scare but he's stable again. We'll watch closely overnight, just in case."

Suddenly Sam could breathe again. He was alive. "Did I help at all, or make it worse?" she asked.

"Oh, helped," she confirmed, to Sam's surprise. "His shoulder is visibly better. Assuming the night passes without a problem, I'm going to have Teal'c reset it, now that the swelling's down. Then you can try again."

"Try again?" Sam repeated, incredulous, and shook her head. "But he almost died."

"We'll just take it more slowly. I had no idea it would deplete his electrolytes so quickly. So you'll need to restrain yourself to a minute or two. But I still think it would help."

"All right. Can I see him?"

Lam gave her permission, so Sam followed her back into the infirmary. Daniel went with her, and he was a comforting presence at her shoulder as she stood next to the bed. "You did help, Sam. He looks much better."

Asheron did look better, she had to agree with that. The bruise on his cheek was gone, and some of the redness in the injuries on his chest had faded. The swelling was less in his shoulder, which emphasized the way that it drooped wrongly.

But he was still attached to too many wires and tubes - things no Tok'ra should need. He looked paler and more deeply asleep, and she wasn't surprised when he didn't respond to her touch on his face at all.

Lam checked his monitors and small medicine bottle emptying into the i.v. pump before wandering off, and Daniel murmured, "It occurs to me that Gerak should consider himself lucky after Teal'c gets through with him." She glanced at him curiously and he gave a wry little smile. "Baal was pissed when he thought Asheron was with us. I hate to think what he'd do to enemy Jaffa for doing this."

She couldn't help a small smile at the thought. "I know I shouldn't, since they're our allies, but right at this moment? I hope Baal finds him. Because this is... so wrong, Daniel." She let out a breath and twined her fingers through a curling piece of his hair next to his ear. "After all Asheron and Malek did for the Jaffa, he should've been the last person they could do this to."

"They didn't know," Daniel pointed out. "And he was Baal's second in command. Not that I'm saying it was right, because obviously this is way past excessive, but it's not as if Gerak had no reason to believe he was a Goa'uld."

She nodded after a moment, since Daniel was right, but she kept to herself, looking at the battered body in front of her, that she didn't care. Someone should avenge this. Since it couldn't be other Jaffa, Tau'ri or the Tok'ra, it was going to have to be Baal. And she found, she was okay with that.

* * *

The next day, Sam stayed out of the way but watched while the doctor showed Teal'c the x-rays and demonstrated what to do, first on her tabletop model skeleton, and then shedding her coat and letting her take hold of her arm and mime the motion.

Then she nodded in approval. "All right. I think you've got it. I'm going to put him under, and we'll be ready to go in fifteen minutes."

Sam stirred. "But he's already unconscious." She'd been in there earlier, and he was out and unresponsive, and it didn't seem as if he'd need more anesthetic.

Lam shook her head, pressing her lips together. "For this kind of pain, morphine isn't enough. He might wake up, or worse. But after the joint's back in place and the general clears his system, his pain level should be much more tolerable. I'm hoping he'll wake up."

She left them in her office, and for a moment there was silence between them. Then Sam looked to Teal'c. "Thank you for rescuing him," she said. "And for doing this."

He nodded to her, formal, but with his dark eyes deeply kind. "It is my honor."

"What happened to Gerak?"

The sympathy turned harder, and his lips flattened in satisfaction. "He and his most ardent supports have left Dakara. Which divides us at a time we wished to be most unified, but we had no choice. Beginning with such deceit and dishonor cannot be our way."

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"Master Bra'tac and I knew it would not be easy. The Jaffa have learned too well from the Goa'uld." He nodded his head toward the x-rays still hanging on the light box. "As Gerak proved."

* * *

Doctor Lam's prediction turned out correct. By mid-afternoon, as the general anesthetic cleared out of his system, his eyes flickered open.

"Asheron?" she murmured. He didn't react to her voice, though she wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't really awake, his heavy duty medication, or his mind still saw his prison cell. "Asheron, can you hear me? Malek, are you in there? It's Sam. You're on Earth. You're safe." She brushed his cheek with her fingertips and she smiled when he turned his head toward her touch. "I'm here. You're safe," she repeated. "You're rescued and you're on Earth."

His eyelids drifted shut again and didn't reopen, with no sign he had known he was even awake, but Sam hoped the message had gotten through on some level.

An hour later, Lam let her use the healing device again, for a short time, and this time, Sam felt more able to direct the power, focusing the energy on the torn tissues of his shoulder and his right hand. It felt as if she'd barely started when Lam was shaking her shoulder. "Colonel, that's enough."

Sam stirred and stepped back, lowering the device, and feeling the exhaustion rise up through her, as an enervating wave.

She was about to leave, to find some food and maybe crash in one of the VIP suites, when Lam said, "Colonel. Wait."

Curious, Sam followed the doctor's gaze, which was watching his heart and respiration rate, and she saw that both had sped up. She looked down at his face, in time to see his eyes open again. This time the blankness was gone, and he saw her. Confused recognition flickered in his face, and he looked away, shutting his eyes with a frown as if he was afraid he was hallucinating.

"Hey," she said and touched the back of his hand and then up his arm to lay her fingers on his stubbled cheek. "You're at the SGC, Asheron. On Earth. You're safe, and everything's going to be okay now. We found you and rescued you, and you're home."

He looked at her again, and his lips parted and he whispered something hoarsely, cleared his throat, and whispered her name. "Sam?" The amount of pain and desperate hope in that one whispered word made her heart clench up tightly in her chest.

"It's me," she confirmed, nodding her head and smiling, even when her eyes grew hot. "It's me. Welcome home."

Lam moved in closer to her side. "I'm Doctor Lam," she introduced herself. "Do you feel any pain?"

He had to think about that for a moment, and she could see the haze of the drugs keeping him from true alertness, but he shook his head a little.

"Good," she answered. "I'm glad to see you're awake. You've got a morphine drip right now, so it's going to make you feel cottony and hazy. But as your injuries heal, I'll lower it and you'll feel more yourself. Let's try a little water, that'll help your throat feel better."

Sam wasn't sure he heard anything she said, as his gaze drifted back to look at Sam. She smiled at him encouragingly, and he stared back.

Nurse Evans lifted the head of the bed a few degrees so Asheron wasn't lying flat, and Lam gave him the straw for a cup of ice water. He lifted a hand trying to help her, but it never made it to the cup, falling limply back down to the bed. His eyes closed while he was sipping at the water, and Lam tugged the cup away. "He's asleep. At least for tonight, keep the main lights on - we've got no other patients, and I don't think he should wake in the dark."

Evans nodded. "Yes, doctor."

Sam followed Lam out of the ward into the hall. "He seems very weak," Sam said.

Lam nodded. "Taking food will help with that, but we'll have to do it slowly. It's a good sign he woke up. But..."

"But?" Sam repeated, not liking the sound of that.

"I'm troubled by the symbiote's low EEG. It... " she paused for a moment before going on, "it matches the EEG your father's symbiote had in the days before they passed away."

Sam knew what that meant, and swallowed hard. "You think Malek's in a coma."

Lam nodded. "I'm afraid so. Your attempts at healing haven't changed the readings at all. Hopefully, as Asheron improves physically, he'll be able to tell us something else we can try to help. I know Selmak's coma lasted a few weeks from what you reported, but this is a different situation, so I have no idea how long this might continue. But I'm afraid their long-term prospects are poor, if Malek doesn't recover."

"Oh." Sam leaned against the wall, feeling the grey paint flake off under the pressure of her fingers.

Lam added, "It's early days yet. And that's the worst case scenario right now. I just thought you should know."

"Thank you," Sam managed.

"Get some rest, Colonel. We have to take this hour by hour, and day by day." With a little pat of Sam's shoulder, the doctor headed into her office.

Sam stayed in place for a little while, breathing, then headed for the mess to get something to eat.

She was making herself finish a yogurt when someone plopped down across from her. Expecting Daniel, she got a surprise, when she looked up and instead it was Mitchell. She smiled for the first time in what felt like days. "Cam! You made it!"

"You look like hell, Sam," he said in concern. "You okay?"

"Just tired," she answered, waving it off. "But you look good. All cleared for duty and here you are."

He grinned at her. "Here I am. Checked in with General Landry and I'm all ready to go," then his smile faltered, "only to find there isn't any SG-1 for me to be on."

She felt a faint stirring of guilt. She'd known about this assignment for Mitchell, but hadn't expected to be present when he found out. "I know," she answered. "I'm sorry, Cam. I'm still assigned to Area 51. I'm just here to help Asheron and Malek get better, then I'll go back."

His shoulders drooped and he got a kicked-puppy look. "C'mon, Sam. It's not SG-1 without you. Come back. Just think, you can go through the gate again, have adventures again..." he wheedled. "Save the galaxy again..."

But it didn't sound tempting at all. "I can't. Malek and I are the last Tok'ra in the galaxy. I can't go throw myself on the front lines as casually as I used to, especially--" she hesitated, and forced herself to continue in a voice that wanted to choke her, "especially if he dies. I have a responsibility to Turan, not to be reckless with her safety. But I'll still be around, y'know, at least for awhile, if you need me."

"That's not the same," he pouted, but after a moment he gave up with a sigh. "Can you help me convince Daniel not to go off to Atlantis at least?"

She had to chuckle at his face. "I can try."

* * *

That wasn't the last time she got dragged back into SGC affairs, either. Vala arrived and proved that Daniel's story about her was absolutely true, attaching herself to him in an effort to blackmail the SGC into finding her treasure. Sam and Bill found no way to remove the bracelets, without harming them.

But Sam remembered that in addition to her mercenary nature, Vala had also been a host to a Goa'uld. Sam waited until they were alone and she perched on the edge of the table. "You know what Tok'ra are?" she asked.

"Of course," she answered. "One nearly got me killed. Why?"

That didn't sound too promising, but Sam forged ahead. "Because we have one in the infirmary. The symbiote is very sick. Do you know - can you think of a way to heal it, besides the hand device and a sarcophagus?"

Vala frowned curiously. "A sick Tok'ra? How strange, I didn't know that could happen."

Thinking of her father and Selmak, Sam answered, "It happens more often than you might think."

"Ordinarily I'd want some form of payment for information," Vala said. When Sam straightened in offense, Vala added hastily, "but in this case, I don't know anything. Qetesh wasn't exactly the most... interested in healing anyone but herself in the sarcophagus." She grimaced, for a moment glancing away.

"I'd imagine not," Sam murmured, "but I had to ask. Thanks." She stood up and headed for the door.

"If you like, I could ... I could try to use the hand device?" Vala offered tentatively. "I've done it before." When Sam turned around to look at her, curious that she was actually offering something, Vala shrugged. "The Tok'ra did free me. I owe them for that."

"I've already tried," Sam answered. "It didn't work."

"**You **tried?" Vala asked in surprise.

Sam felt a little satisfaction, as she told the mercenary, "Didn't anyone tell you? I'm a Tok'ra." She was smiling as she slipped through the door. The smile stayed until she set foot inside the door of the infirmary ward.

She sat in the chair next to Asheron's bed. He was sleeping, and looked the same as earlier in the day, which she tried to tell herself was a good thing because he didn't look worse. In the hope that her voice would remind him that he was free, even in the depths of his dreams, and also to settle her own anxiety, she picked up the book from the little table, found the place she'd left off yesterday, and started to read aloud, "_Chapter Two. Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley._..."

* * *

The next day when Mitchell and the others went with _Prometheus_ to England to look for treasure, she stayed to use the healing device on Asheron again, this time trying to focus on Malek.

Lam was watching the EEG carefully, when Sam stepped away and lowered the hand device. She shook her head slowly. "There was a spike in activity briefly, but it settled again." She frowned at the monitor. "There were those contusions on the symbiote's body, and I think Daniel was right, that they're like those on Apophis a few years back. They're undoubtedly causing some of its weakness. But I wonder..." She trailed off and checked the i.v. pump and the skin around the shunt, still looking thoughtful.

"What?" Sam asked.

Lam pulled down the sheet to get a good look at the healing injuries on his torso. Luckily the bruising was fading, and even the lash marks were healing, though some remained raised and reddish, and Sam knew they were going to scar. The doctor explained, as she looked, "As bad as Asheron's blood panels were, I think he should have slipped into renal failure long before he got here. So I wonder if the symbiote had taken on some of the renal and liver functions, and has now basically poisoned itself, trying so hard to keep its host alive. That may be why the hand device won't work - it can't pull those toxins from the symbiote's body."

Sam nodded. She was no doctor of medicine, but she'd certainly picked up enough in her time here and in her field medic training to understand. "Presuming that's true, what could we do to help?"

"The symbiote is connected to his circulatory system. So I hope that as Asheron's organ function improves, his body will start filtering them out again. Of course, I have no idea if the damage is permanent," she admitted. "It would be... helpful to have someone with more expertise. I'm fumbling around in an area of medicine I knew nothing about until a few weeks ago."

What they needed was a fully mature symbiote; which was the one thing not left in the galaxy, except for a few Goa'uld at large. Sam wondered where Baal had gone after Anubis' defeat.

Asheron murmured, recalling her attention, and she watched him wake up, hopeful that this time he'd be a little more alert. Lam had lowered the morphine now that his shoulder was healing so nicely, and his eyes were, in fact, more clear as he looked around.

"Hey there," she murmured and leaned closer, smiling softly at him.

"Hey," he returned hoarsely and frowned. "Where am I?"

"SGC, on Earth," she answered, and with Lam's approving nod, Sam lifted the head of the bed again so he could see more of the infirmary.

"What happened?" he asked, looking confused. She gave him the straw and he drank while she countered with another question.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I..." his gaze drifted sideways, and his frown deepened, growing distressed, until his eyes snapped to hers, horrified panic naked in his face. "Malek isn't answering me. I can't feel him at all. Is he dead?"

"Shush. It's okay. He's not dead," she reassured him, stroking her hand along his arm. "He's very sick, I won't lie, but he's still there inside you. He's sleeping."

"Sick from what?" he asked in such blank puzzlement she didn't know what to answer and threw a helpless look at Lam. He didn't remember, and she didn't know if she should tell him or leave it.

Lam stepped to the other side of the bed. "You were a prisoner," she answered. "Do you remember that?"

He glanced at the doctor as if he had a vague memory of her from somewhere, but then answered her question, "I remember ... there were Replicators. There was a battle. Then you and Jacob got the weapon to work and destroyed them all. And... Tel'nor was killed. And... that's all..." His voice fell to a whisper, his eyes closed, as if he were falling asleep again, but his right hand was trembling against the sheets. Sam couldn't hold his hand, but she clasped his forearm in her fingers.

"It's okay," she murmured. "Your mind's hiding it from you while the rest of you recovers. Don't push yet; you're not ready to remember."

She hoped she was lying, and he wouldn't remember it at all, but she didn't think they'd be that lucky.

"How are you feeling physically?" Lam asked.

He tried to lift a hand, discovering the splints keeping his fingers straight on his right hand, and the bandages on his left, where the fingers had started to heal in captivity, but wrongly, so they wouldn't straighten.

Asheron blanched, and the beep of his heart rate suddenly increased. "Hurts," he whispered. "Oh gods, it hurts..." His breathing grew harsh and ragged, and Sam tried to calm him, with soft words and touching his arm, but he didn't seem to realize she was there any more.

Lam took out a syringe from her coat pocket, checked it, and injected his i.v. with it. It felt like an eternity, watching him whimper, not soothed by anything. "Why isn't it helping?" Sam demanded. "Morphine should work faster than this."

"It's not morphine," Lam told her, but didn't take her eyes off her patient. "He's not in pain - it's memory. I gave him diazepam for anxiety." Finally, his panting calmed and his heart rate slowed, right before he passed out. Lam bit her lip and her dark eyes were soft, as she gently laid her fingers on his forehead. "So now we know it's all in there. Self-induced amnesia is keeping it from his conscious mind."

Sam sat down on the chair again, looking from him to the doctor. "What do we do?" she asked, feeling stunned and overwhelmed. She'd known it wasn't going to be easy and he was going to be hurt, but seeing the reality, laid it out for her how it was more than she knew to fix.

"We find a doctor for him, for one thing," Lam said and sighed. "It might be worth considering sending him with _Daedalus._"

"To Atlantis?" Sam asked, surprised. "Really?"

"Doctor Heightmeyer has far more training in trauma and stress treatment than anyone on base here," Lam said. "But I don't think anyone there has any experience with symbiotes either, so perhaps that would be an idea for their next trip."

If Malek and Asheron survived long enough for the ship's next round trip, was what she meant, Sam realized as the doctor moved away. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, with her hand lightly on his chest. "Malek, please wake up. You have to wake up."

There was not a twitch in the EEG to suggest the symbiote had heard her.

* * *

The team returned with the Ancient terminal artifact, and Sam divided her time between that and Asheron, who was improving slowly. When Daniel and Vala fell unconscious, their minds transported elsewhere, she worked to try to get them back without success, and watched in horror, as Vala's life signs stopped. She waited, dread filling her, feeling certain that Daniel's would, too.

But Vala recovered, for no obvious reason. They still didn't wake up, though, and she and Bill started to try to disable the power source without killing either of them.

"Damn Ancients," she muttered under their breath. "Sucker me in every time."

Bill snickered. "They do that, don't they? I used to think they were so awesome with all their tech secrets. Now they're just ... annoying."

"Go off and Ascend and leave us mortals down here to deal with all the stuff they couldn't be bothered with anymore," she grumped, and then the terminal zapped her. She shook her hand trying to get the tingles out. "Ow! Damn it!"

"I still say C4 would work wonders," Cam said, from behind them.

"You would," she retorted. "But let's try it our way first."

"_Mitchell to General Landry's office,"_ came over the PA and he gave a shrug and a little wave. "Later."

It felt strange, she realized, to have her friends so scattered. Teal'c was at Dakara, Daniel was unconscious, she was in the lab, and Cam left with another SG team following up a strange report from Doctor Lindsay.

But they came back together in the briefing room two days later, as Mitchell brought through the priest of the next false gods to try to replace the Goa'uld.

As she listened to the Prior talk about enlightenment and believers and the Ori, she began to feel very cold. They'd mentioned Daniel, which meant Daniel was in contact with these people -- and these people had done something to Vala where her life-signs had stopped briefly. Teal'c, as befit a Jaffa, was dismissive of more false gods, Landry was more polite, and Cam was argumentative - but she stayed quiet, wishing Asheron was next to her, both for the comfort of his presence and to listen to him challenge the Prior.

Then things went from bad to worse when the Prior went up in flames, leaving only his book; and Daniel and Vala started to die. She tried to rip out the power core, but Cam took the terminal from her and lifted it, Teal'c helping him. "Sam, no time. We gotta get rid of it."

"What are you doing? You can't blow it up."

"I'm not. Gonna pitch it at the gate. Tell Walter to dial."

"They're connected through subspace. It won't matter if you send the terminal to another planet!" she ran after him.

"Not through, IN," Mitchell shouted. "Tell Walter to dial!"

Then she got it, feeling slow and stupid, and picked up the phone. "Dial the gate, sergeant. Alpha Site will do. But don't punch the seventh until Mitchell gets there."

She ran back to the infirmary in time to see Daniel and Vala wake up, panicked and panting as if they'd been underwater, but very much alive and themselves again.

She smiled at Daniel, glad and relieved he was back.

* * *

_tbc..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Sam was sitting at Asheron's bedside, when he asked about the commotion he'd noticed. He was able to sit up for a little while now, and most of his outer injuries were healed. But Malek was still comatose and Asheron was still on the i.v. because he wasn't tolerating solid food. She didn't want to trouble him when his recovery was still chancy.

"It was nothing," she said. "It's all over with now."

He looked at her closely. "Sam... what is it? You can tell me."

"There's no reason to make you worry about things you can't do anything about," she protested.

"And now I'm going to worry about something I know nothing about," he pointed out. "Just tell me. I'd... like something else to think about," he admitted.

She gave a sigh. "All right." She explained what had happened to Daniel, and the prior of the Ori who had visited, and the very disturbing implication that the Ori had discovered the Milky Way as ripe for conversion to Origin.

"This... is not good," he murmured. "All the power of the Ascendants turned toward evil, and followers with superhuman powers. What does Selmak say?"

Blind-sided by the question, she caught her breath on a surge of pain and didn't know what to answer at first. She was about to tell the truth, then she looked at the thin and shadowed face and the fragile mind behind it, and she knew she couldn't put the additional grief of Selmak's death on him right now. So she lied, "Dad is in D.C. advising General O'Neill. Did you know he got kicked upstairs, to take over for Hammond? General Landry's the new base commander."

Asheron would've caught her lie if he'd been looking at her, but he was looking down at his bandaged hands. "No, I didn't know that. So Selmak doesn't have any ideas for how to help Malek?"

And that, she realized, was why lying never led anywhere but more lies. She drew in a breath and answered, "No, we tried them, and they didn't work. He said that all Malek might need is time to get rid of the toxins that built up in his body."

"Oh." His fingertips, encased in the splints, pulled against the blanket. "It feels different, than when he was asleep. Then I felt alone, but at least there was this... door between us and I knew he was on the other side. Now, I don't feel him at all."

"He's there," she reassured him. "Look," she pointed to Malek's EEG. "That's his readout. It's low, but there is activity."

Asheron followed her finger and stared at the monitor, his eyes unfocusing as if he was calling inside for Malek to answer him.

Worried by his long silence, she picked up the cup from the side table. "Here. Doctor Lam said I should try to give you as much of this milkshake as you'll take. I know you probably want tea, but at least this is chocolate."

With a jerk, his attention snapped back to her, and he reached out to take the cup, soon defeated by the splints in his attempt to hold it. "Here, let me," she offered, and held the cup for him while he drank from the straw.

She didn't miss the clench in his jaw that was irritated at his own helplessness. So she was half-expecting some sort of reaction. "They have nurses for this kind of thing, don't they?" he asked. "I'd think you have better things to do."

"No, I don't," she answered, calmly, with a smile. She'd already played this game with him, and if she hadn't backed off when he gave her lurid details of sleeping with Baal, she wasn't letting him push her away from helping him.

He didn't drink much. "Thank you." As she turned to put it on the cart, he murmured, "I don't understand why you're here."

She didn't think she was supposed to hear, but frowned at him. "Me? Where else should I be?"

He shifted his weight in the bed once, and then back again restlessly and didn't look at her. "Nevermind."

"No," she pulled closer, concerned. "What did you mean?"

"I -- " His expression was so open that she was startled, as uncertainty and pain passed through his face. His gaze dropped to his hands, hunching over in a defeated ball. Still he didn't speak, and she found herself biting her lip. This was all wrong; Asheron shouldn't be tentative or defeated.

"I betrayed you," he murmured finally. "You should be angry at me. You should hate me for what I did."

She understood finally, some of it. He felt guilty about all he'd done with Baal. "I could never hate you," she reassured him. "You had no choice -- "

"I had a choice," he insisted, gaze snapping up to hers. "I choose a Goa'uld. I **was** a Goa'uld. I could've said no."

She doubted that was true. He might believe it, might even **need** to believe it for his own sanity, but she remembered how possessive Baal had been at the gate. He hadn't looked very willing to give up his prize. But she was certainly not going to disagree.

He kept going, irritably, "And everyone persists in treating me like I'm some sort of hero, when I'm not."

Hs voice cracked and he looked away.

She nodded her understanding. Very few people -- SG-1 and Landry -- were privy to the real story. Everyone else had been told he'd been spying on Baal and Anubis, before Gerak had mistaken him for a Goa'uld. Many people had openly told him he was very brave and there was a great deal of unspoken pity and sympathy for what he'd suffered.

But there was more that most people didn't know. He had ruled Saphon as Baal's deputy, with Baal's iron fist only slightly softened, and helped strengthen Baal's empire. There was probably a lot more that she didn't know. But she also knew he was being hard on himself, seeing only the bad of his choices.

"You saved the Hak'tyl," she said. "You saved the people of Erindan and I don't know how many others. And you gave us intel on Anubis so we finally defeated him and the replicators."

"And I spent three months in Baal's **bed**," he reminded her sharply.

He was trying to shock her and push her away, just as he'd tried before. But this time the provocation perversely made her calmer. "I know." He looked down again, his brief flare of temper withering away as his right hand rubbed at his bandaged fingers as though they hurt him.

She continued, "I got used to the idea awhile ago. I don't understand it," she admitted softly, "but I accept it. He's a part of who you are. But I'm not angry. For God's sake, I thought you were dead. It would be awfully petty of me to be angry about something so trivial, after all you've been through."

He let out a long breath, gaunt face settling into lines of exhaustion, and he didn't speak.

She added, just in case he thought she was saying the words only to make him feel better, "All I want right now is to help you. So please, don't imagine that I'm mad at you, because I'm not." She laid her fingers on his forearm and squeezed lightly. "Okay?" she asked.

He nodded. She couldn't tell if he believed her, or if she had made him feel better at all. "I just want to help," he finally said. "And I can't. I can't do anything."

She shook her head and her hand went up his arm to gently stroke his cheek. He closed his eyes under the touch and she murmured, "The best thing for you to do right now is put your energy to getting better. You look tired. I think you should rest."

"That's all I've been doing," he complained petulantly, and she smiled.

"That's probably because that's what you need to do," she said and kissed his forehead.

"Shall I read the next chapter in the book? "

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "Actually, I'd like to see that book of Origin. Somebody might as well read the whole noxious thing - and it's not like I have anything else to do."

Though she didn't think Origin was probably a good topic before sleeping, she was also pleased by his interest, she popped off the chair. "I'll go get it from Daniel; I think he had it last."

When she came back, Asheron was asleep and she put the book on the side-table where he could see it. Then she smoothed back his hair from his forehead, hoping he slept peacefully.

* * *

She should've realized a healthier Asheron meant a bad, irritable patient. He was gone for awhile in the morning while the doctor took new x-rays, and when Sam found him back in his bed, it was without the splints on his right hand. He picked up a pencil for Lam to prove his dexterity, but didn't seem very happy about the improvements.

Daniel, who had come with her to get Asheron's thoughts on the Ori, grinned, "Look at that. You're so much better, it's amazing."

"I feel fine now," he muttered, and everyone else was kind enough not to laugh at the lie. He looked at the other hand, still wrapped in bandages, then looked up at the doctor. "I want to go shower," Asheron demanded. "Take all this out." He tapped on his i.v. and stared at Lam in distinct challenge.

"I don't think that's wise," she started.

"I want to go shower," he repeated flatly. "I'm dirty, my hair is disgusting, and I smell. It's making me sick."

Sam shook her head a little. She knew that Lam didn't think Asheron was up to it, but he was adamant about getting out of bed.

But she was no pushover either. "Fine," she agreed. "Bath, not a shower. And you go there in a wheelchair. I also want someone in the room with you."

Asheron stilled, and his gaze flickered with something. Sam's stomach tightened with concern as she realized there was more to this shower thing than just getting clean. "They can wait outside," he said.

He wanted the privacy, she suspected. Being in the infirmary was a lot like an airport terminal on a good day, and Asheron hadn't been left alone once since waking up.

"No," Lam answered calmly. "You could drown. Someone goes with you, or you don't bathe. Nurse Evans, preferably."

Asheron's mouth tightened and he looked mutinous. He didn't demand again, but Sam didn't take it as acquiescence. He was going to do something else to get the privacy he wanted, something Lam couldn't prevent. "I'll go with you, if you like," Sam offered and smiled at him. At least he wouldn't be with a stranger. That had to be better. "Nothing I haven't seen before, right?" she teased.

But instead of looking relieved or glad, his gaze dropped and he swallowed, "That's okay, Sam. Maybe ... maybe Doctor Lam's right. I shouldn't. Thank you though."

He didn't want her with him. She ignored the twinge of hurt, reminding herself that she couldn't take it personally.

"Are you sure? What about me?" Daniel offered. "I can help you, if you want."

Asheron hesitated, still reluctant, but Daniel's offer won out. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."

* * *

Sam left, and Asheron was relieved. He didn't want her to see.

Lam unwound the bandages from his left hand carefully, and locked off and taped the i.v. shunt under his collar bone. He'd hoped she might take it out all together, but she gave him a look even before he voiced a complaint. "Until you start eating real food, it stays," she said.

He stared at his hand, willing his fingers to move. But only his thumb and littlest finger bent, while his ring finger only twitched a little. The first two fingers were frozen and bent, and clearly thinner than the fingers on his other hand. But they ached, those crippled fingers, all the way past his wrist, throbbing when the bandages were gone. Nerve damage, Lam had said, from when his shoulder had been left dislocated for so long.

A shard of something white and sharp pricked him in his memory, and he lifted his eyes away hurriedly. "Okay, let's do this." He was dizzy when he stood up, and his legs started to tremble. He was glad for the wheelchair, in spite of himself.

In the bathroom, he glanced at the outer door, wishing he could lock it. But then, resigned, he stood up.

"Do you, uh, need help?" Daniel asked awkwardly.

Asheron shook his head. The tile was cold on his bare feet, as he walked over to the mirror above the closest sink. Daniel followed close by, and his expression in the reflection looked concerned and puzzled, but he didn't ask why Asheron wanted to go to the mirror rather than the filled therapy tub in the corner.

It was difficult to take off the shirt without much use of his left hand, even though it was only tied closed in two places in the front. Daniel stepped forward to help pull it off his other arm.

He pulled in a sharp breath of shock at the sight of Asheron's back. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Asheron -- "

Asheron turned to see, looking over his shoulder. He had to shut his eyes and turn away. It was worse than he had thought. There was a map of thin lines across his back, that turned into several thicker red ropy ones across his shoulders and at the small of his back. There was also a knot of scar tissue on the back of his neck and down his spine where they had tortured Malek individually.

"I had no idea," Daniel continued, sounding horrified, and still staring at Asheron.

Asheron jerked, as the room dimmed and there was a Jaffa there, bloody flail in his hand.

Then he opened his eyes to see only his own ravaged face in the mirror. He fell against the sink, stomach heaving suddenly. He retched helplessly, long after there was nothing left to bring up.

He settled, chest heaving for breath and legs quivering, with his forehead against the sink. Daniel's hand was on his hair, gently, and he stood close to brace him upright. "Should I get the doctor?" he asked, sounding worried.

Asheron shook his head. "No. Please."

"I can't ask if you're all right, because that sounds really stupid," Daniel said, "but can I do anything to help?"

"Water?" Asheron asked, hoarse. Daniel turned on the water, and Asheron rinsed his mouth and straightened He studiously avoided looking at his own face in the reflection, not wanting to see confirmation of how weak he felt.

But his gaze was helplessly pulled to his torso His front was less scarred, just a few crossed lines and small white dots from the sha'nik prongs. The line of his shoulders dropped on the left side, and his bones protruded too much.

"One thing you can say for Ishtar," Asheron said, "at least she used the sarcophagus. It kept down the scarring."

Daniel didn't know what to do with the statement and ignored it. "How much --" Daniel asked hesitantly, "How much do you remember?"

Asheron looked at the reflection of his bad hand, tightening his other hand into a tight fist so he could focus only on the small pain of his nails digging into his palm. "All of it," he murmured. "It's all there. I can feel it, pushing at my thoughts. I don't want it back, Daniel."

It was a heavy weight, pressing on him, a weight that he knew he wouldn't withstand once it opened and fell on him. He was playing for time, hoping he could wait long enough for Malek to get well, before his mind cracked like a dropped egg.

*_MALEK_?* he shouted silently in his mind. But there was no response.

He turned from the mirror and headed for the bathtub, before the nothingness in his mind called forth memories of small, dark places.

* * *

Sam didn't want to leave to go to P8X-412, but as one of the few people immune to the Prior-inflicted plague as Turan's host, she didn't feel she had any choice. In the end she and Vala working together using the hand device weren't enough to accomplish anything. She returned with a heavy heart, glad Cam had survived, but fearful of what this disease meant for everyone. She wished for Malek's biochemistry expertise to help Doctor Lam investigate it, but the symbiote was still barely hanging on.

"I'm glad you're back," Asheron greeted her. "I heard from the doctor how terrible it was there. How are you doing?" he asked, sympathetically.

For a moment, she could only look at him, wondering that he even had the strength to worry about someone else. He was still so painfully thin it hurt to look at him, and the skin around his eyes was thin and bruised looking. "We lost," she answered, with a shrug, not wanting to make a big deal about it. She sat down in the hard plastic chair beside the bed. "The Ori took the planet. But at least we all came back. How've you been?"

"Sleeping mostly," he said, and just when she was about to point out that wasn't really an answer, he added, "I finished the Book of Origin while you were gone."

She made a face. "Don't spoil the ending," she joked, but when he didn't smile, she asked, "What did you think?"

"It is puerile sophistry at its finest," he answered, with a twisted lip of disgust. "Full of morality plays and propaganda disguised as received wisdom, all of it twisted to the Ori's worship."

"That good, huh?" she teased.

He shook his head. "It's appealing as those sorts of things are. But it insidiously implies a message of choice, even though there is none. The Ori are far more clever than the Goa'uld ever could be."

"They've had longer to polish their message. We're going to need something to counter them with, and I think the person who started a program of un-deifying Baal should get on that," she said with a smile, and a squeeze of his arm. But when he nodded, all neutral-faced like he was accepting a mission, she felt a little chill. "After you get better," she added sternly. "If you make yourself worse, Doctor Lam will be very unhappy with us."

"I am better," he protested. When she thought of what he'd looked like when she first saw him, that was true. He was better. But when she thought about what he'd suffered, and how the physical injuries were probably only a very small component of that, she was suspicious. He was entirely too alert and normal, and while she didn't want to upset whatever tenuous control he'd put on himself, she didn't think locking it all away like he'd done with Ishtar was healthy either.

He must have read the concern in her face because he reassured her, "Sam, please, don't worry so much. I think Malek must have protected me from the worst of it. Maybe that's why he's hurt and why I don't remember."

It made sense, but she also remembered Jolinar had tried to protect her from the pain of the ashrak's torture, but that hadn't lasted an hour. She doubted that Malek could've held Asheron away from the pain all that time they were prisoners. But it wasn't something she could argue about either. "I hope so."

Then, in a transparent move to change the subject, he asked, "Would you read the next chapter in the book?"

She did, wishing she could believe that he was as recovered as he seemed.

* * *

He woke slowly, groggy and unwilling. His shoulder was throbbing, and he wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, but the pain was insistent and so he opened his eyes.

The room was bright enough for him to identify the infirmary immediately, but the dim lights still made the sick taste of fear rise up in the back of his throat and tighten his belly. He'd barely swallowed and started to calm down, when his eyes turned to the side and saw the Goa'uld sitting there.

His heart leaped with panic, and he sat upright, groping for some kind of weapon. Then he realized he knew her, and she wasn't actually a Goa'uld anymore.

"Vala," he said, on the tail end of a long breath.

"You thought I was Qetesh still?" she asked curiously. "When you, of all people, should know better."

"I forgot," he answered, and grabbed for the bed controls to raise the back. That gave him a moment to try to compose himself, until he could lean back. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"You hadn't heard I was here?" Her lips tightened in a brief reflexive smile. "I've been here for weeks. I got a bit _attached_ to Daniel Jackson."

He figured Sam must have left that part out. "I see. And you were here, watching me sleep, because…?"

She shrugged and said softly, "Being there, being her again, watching her people die and fall to the Ori... I tried but.... You know what it's like." She shook her head, falling silent. Then she murmured, hands tight in her lap. "For so long, I was angry at you. It never even occurred to you to worry about the host, until they were going to kill me."

He met her eyes, honest now as he was then. "No. It took me three years to get the Council to approve going after Qetesh, and that was my mission. Get the people to rise against her and kill her. Nothing more."

"But why?" she demanded.

"Qetesh was a queen," he answered. "Killing the queens meant fewer larva, fewer Jaffa, fewer Goa'uld. And that was more important to me than you." He shrugged one shoulder and rubbed at the other, taking a deep breath. "I know that sounds very cold. I'm sorry about that. But it's the truth. I didn't think of Qetesh's host until Partil reminded me you'd been her host only a short time and you might still be saved. So we did."

She said nothing for a long time, tucking her arms around her drawn up knees. "I suppose, knowing what I know about you now, I can hardly blame you for wanting to kill Goa'uld queens." After another pause, Vala's lips twitched in a quick smile. "We have something else in common. Unlike everyone else in this place, I remember very well what sex with Baal is like, and I completely understand. I would've stayed with him, too."

Taken aback by the topic no one else had dared to mention to him, his cheeks heated and he glanced away. "Qetesh?" he asked, in a hoarse voice that he strained to keep level.

She looked gleeful at his expression and pulled up her knees like a little girl in a chair too big for her. "Oh yes. They got together a few times. She wanted so badly for him to make her his queen, and then she planned to turn on him to take over for herself. But she was never anything to him, beyond the sex. It made her so angry," Vala grinned in spiteful pleasure.

He wasn't sure whether he was more glad that Qetesh had been frustrated in her plans, or that Baal had treated her as nothing more than a zhi'lotar. Then the ache in his shoulder flared, passing down to his hand, and he bit his lip hard, trying to concentrate on that small pain. He was now regretful that Lam had finally pulled the i.v.; he hadn't hurt so much with the drugs in the drip.

But Vala noticed the way he caught his breath. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked.

He wanted to claim he was fine, but when he opened his mouth to speak the lie, the only thing that came out was, "I think the medicine's wearing off." He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths through his nose so he wouldn't whimper.

She bounced off the chair. "I'll get the nurse."

When she was gone, the infirmary seemed different. Although it wasn't fully dark with light streaming in through the door from the hall and the emergency lights glowing green and red from the walls, that just seemed to make the shadows deeper, and the curtain blocking his sight of the other half of the ward could be hiding anything.

_Don't be an idiot, _he told himself, even as his heart rate began to speed up, _There is nothing there. There's nothing to be afraid of._

But his body was not listening to his mind, breaths splintering and images like ghosts in the corner of his eyes or shadows behind the curtain, there and then not. He heard sounds of soft movement, until he was convinced there had to be someone there, even though he knew it was all in his head.

He swallowed and swung his legs out of bed to go prove to himself there was nothing there. The floor was cold on his bare feet and he took a step to the curtain, putting a hand on it to pull it aside.

His eyes took in the golden emblem, and his brain identified the Jaffa standing in front of him... Terror flashed through him, hot as fire and choking him into nothingness.

* * *

_tbc_...


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks to HAZMOT, for keeping my enthusiasm for posting this alive! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

.

Sam went into the infirmary in the morning, ready to bring cheerful greetings to Asheron, and found him asleep. Doctor Lam gave her the discouraging report that he'd flipped out on seeing Teal'c and she'd had to sedate him.

When he woke up, he seemed subdued and tired. "It was Teal'c, wasn't it?" he asked her as soon as he recognized her.

"Yes. He thought you were sleeping, or he wouldn't have tried to sneak in."

"Oh gods," he breathed and shut his eyes, letting out a breath. "I even _knew _it was him, and I still couldn't stop it. Tell him I'm sorry."

She took his right hand in hers. "There's nothing to be sorry about. He understands, Asheron. He's been there."

"Damn it, I hate this," he spat out in weary disgust with himself, words he probably wouldn't say if he weren't still drugged. "Being so weak and useless."

"Hush," she murmured. "You're not. You lived through something so horrific I can't even imagine, and you did it twice. And I know it must hurt even worse that Malek's not with you right now, but he will be. In the meantime, I'm here, your other friends are here, and we're here to help you, whatever you need."

He didn't say anything for a long time, just breathing with his eyes closed, but she could feel the grip he had on her fingers and knew he wasn't sleeping. Then his eyes opened and looked at her. "You're more than I deserve, Sam."

She shook her head, and put a finger across his lips. "No. You deserve only good things, and I won't hear anything else."

He looked reluctant but eventually nodded a bit, and she took her hand away. "Would you read more of the book? Not Origin, I don't think anybody can take that right now; the novel. It reminds me of when I was young," he said, with a wistful look that she couldn't resist.

"I hope your mother wasn't Mrs Bennet," she teased and was pleased when he smiled a bit and shook his head. She opened _Pride and Prejudice _but read only two pages before a commotion at the entrance made her look up.

General Landry entered and she started up from her chair, waved back down. "Sir. Asheron, this is General Landry."

"General," Asheron greeted him. "Thank you for letting me stay here."

Landry seemed surprised by Asheron's politeness. "You're welcome. Least I could do. I came to see how you were doing?"

Asheron hesitated, deciding what to say before settling on, "Better, thank you."

"Good, glad to hear it," he answered, and then got to the real reason he'd come. "As our resident expert, I thought I'd bring you this," Landry waved a piece of paper in their direction. Sam reached out and took it. There wasn't much on the sheet - just the printed text of a message in Goa'uld.

"The Goa'uld Nerus sent this to us," Landry explained and asked Asheron, "What do you know about him?"

Asheron's eyes flicked up to Landry at the name. "He was one of Baal's servants for centuries," he answered. "Technologically proficient and smarter than he seems, but also … vile." His face tightened in disgust, lips pressed together, but the biggest clue to Sam was the word itself. It sounded like he'd had personal dealings with him.

"'Vile'?" Sam repeated curiously. "You don't like him. You met?" she asked, hoping she wasn't going to prompt any bad memories.

But to her relief, Asheron didn't seem disturbed by the question and nodded calmly. "He was at court on Saphon, when I was there. Nerus indulges in a way most Goa'uld don't care to --- eating, drinking, narcotics, whatever he wants. He's also very oily and scheming, and you can't trust him as far as you can throw him. Which," his lips twisted in a wry half-smile, "isn't very far. But his fleshy desires got in the way of his ambition, so he was willing to serve as long as he could indulge. What does he want?"

Landry looked pointedly at the paper in her hand. "I was hoping you could tell me that."

She could spend a few minutes painstakingly sounding out the characters or give it to Asheron to read, so she handed it to him.

He read it and frowned deeply. "He's offering to come here to help against the Ori. He has news about them he wants to share. And he writes this: 'I would consider it a great honor to meet the heroes of the Tau'ri who brought the Goa'uld to their knees…'"

"But he's a Goa'uld himself," Sam objected.

"Exactly." Asheron turned his head to share a glance with her, equally disbelieving. "But … he's a minor one, and this uses the same fawning language he used at court," he said. "Perhaps he sees his chance to throw in with a winner now that the old order is overthrown. He does like to follow strength."

The heavy disdain in his voice made her want to smile. Nerus was a coward and a toady, no wonder Asheron despised him.

"He has technical skills?" Landry asked.

Asheron nodded and answered grudgingly, "Yes. That's why Baal kept him around."

"Did Baal send him?" Landry asked.

Asheron shrugged a bit and shook his head. "I don't know, but I don't think so. He's an asset Baal wouldn't want in your hands. This," he held up the note, "reads to me like it's something Nerus is doing on his own. I think you should find out what he wants. But don't," he advised Landry, "underestimate him."

Landry nodded, looking thoughtful and took the paper back from him. He thanked Asheron, nodded at Sam and left.

"There, see?" Sam said to Asheron. "And you were complaining you weren't doing anything useful."

He ignored that. "Don't let anyone tell him I'm here."

"Why not?" she asked curiously. "You don't want to see him?"

"I want to watch him, before he knows. I know him well enough to spot deceit, I hope."

She nodded, pleased that he was taking such an interest. "I'll set up a feed from the interrogation room to here so you can watch." He didn't argue about going closer, even though he was strong enough to walk there now. He was in the infirmary for observation and so the doctor could monitor what he was eating, more than any physical weakness.

A nurse brought in dinner, and Sam dismissed her with a smile, to push the tray in front of him. "I'll keep you company while you eat."

He looked at the chicken and peas, the dessert of Jell-O and cup of orange juice with such obvious disgust she had to chuckle. "Come on," she coaxed, "at least eat the Jell-O. It's strawberry, that's one of the good flavors."

"They all taste the same," he muttered, but he started to pick at it anyway.

* * *

Asheron watched Nerus' "briefing" on the small television on the cart brought near his bed in the infirmary. Nerus was still vile, starting into the food with relish and being flattering and fawning, praising the Tau'ri for defeating the Goa'uld and the Replicators.

But when Nerus dropped the use of the Goa'uld voice and treated it like an optional affectation, a chill skittered down his back in warning. It seemed very unlike the Nerus Asheron knew, to dismiss the 'god voice' so lightly.

But the news he brought was horrifying, and Asheron knew Nerus was clever enough in his self-interest to seek out allies. When the Tau'ri left the room, Nerus continued eating, surely aware that he was under surveillance.

It took almost an hour before Sam and Vala and Daniel made their way to the infirmary. He was for a moment surprised that Teal'c hadn't come, but then realized after his own craziness Teal'c had taken the wiser course and stayed away.

"Tell them Nerus is a liar," Vala said as her greeting, climbing up on his bed and wriggling familiarly against his feet to make room for her to sit. "He cannot be trusted."

"He's a liar and he cannot be trusted," Asheron repeated obediently, winning a smile from Sam.

Vala smirked at Daniel. "There, see?"

"But," Asheron continued, lifting a hand, "you have to stop the Ori from finishing whatever it is they're doing. It doesn't benefit anyone in this galaxy, Nerus included, to let them build an impregnable fortress."

Vala folded her arms and pouted.

"We're getting a very large naquadriah-enhanced warhead delivered from Area 51," Sam told him. "We'll meet _Prometheus _and go in that way. If the Prior refuses to stop, which I'm sure he will, we'll blow the nuke and destroy the Gate. Hopefully that'll be enough." In her eyes he read her doubt - and he nodded, understanding.

Daniel sighed. "Even if we stop them here, there's nothing to stop them from doing the same thing on another planet."

"I find it hard to believe this expenditure of energy is _**that**_easy for them," Asheron said. "It might at least give us some time."

Vala shook her head. "You know listening to that disgusting excuse for a Goa'uld is a mistake," she persisted. "He's got some scheme."

"I'm sure he does," Asheron agreed. "But he's also a cockroach, and there aren't any more powerful Goa'uld left to hide behind, are there? So he scurried here, seeking the protection of his next higher patron. That's the kind of creature he is."

"Right," Daniel agreed, directing his words to a resistant Vala. "He's got to stop the Ori, too."

"You'll see," Vala warned.

Daniel groaned. "Come on, let's go get ready. Asheron, take care, and we'll see you when we're back."

"Good luck," he wished them, and Daniel and Vala left the infirmary, with Vala turning once at the door to glare at him before flouncing out.

Sam watched, bemused, then the smile dropped away as she sat beside him, her leg touching his and tucking her fingers around his hand. "I don't want to go," she murmured.

He turned his hand over to clasp hers. "You have to go. I know that. Trust me, I understand duty."

"But -- " She bit her lip, worry in her eyes. "But I should be with you. I don't want to leave you alone again. Not when you've started to remember."

"Sam. They need you more than I do," he said. "You have to stop the Ori. If you stayed behind, for me, and the galaxy fell to the Ori..." his voice trailed off, and he shivered. "We'd both always wonder if you could've helped."

She looked reluctant but nodded. "You could come with me," she suggested hopefully. "Stay on _Prometheus_."

He was briefly tempted, but he knew it was impossible. He was better, but he could admit, if only to himself, that he wasn't well. Certainly not well enough to go on a ship in the middle of a battle, when he couldn't even be sure he'd stay in his right mind if the memories all came crashing back on him again. But she didn't need to know all that. He shook his head once. "As much as I want to, I'm not ready. I would just distract you." He forced a smile. "Besides, Doctor Lam hasn't even let me go to my own quarters yet, I don't think she'd let me leave the planet."

"Probably not." Sam's thumb stroked the back of his hand, and for a moment, he watched it, wondering how she could even bring herself to touch him. "I know you're right. But ... I can't escape this feeling that if I leave... something will happen, and I might not see you again," she confessed, softly, looking down. Malek's name hung unspoken but heavy over them.

"I..." he started to promise he wouldn't follow Malek, but he knew he couldn't promise that. Malek seemed stable in his coma, but that also meant there was no improvement, and Asheron had no idea how long a symbiote might last in this state. He had the feeling it wouldn't be forever, though. When Malek died, the symbiote toxin would flood his body and he would die, too. That much was a certainty. "I'll hang on as long as Malek does."

"You better," she warned him, eyes bright. "We didn't go through all this to lose you both, now."

He nodded. She bent down to kiss him goodbye, and he watched her go, lifting a hand in farewell when she turned at the doorway.

When she was gone, it was as if a weight came off his chest and he let out a sigh, closing his eyes. She tried so hard, and the worst part was that he believed she meant it; it wasn't just misplaced loyalty or duty driving her to care. But it felt wrong to let her, after everything.

It was better for everyone if she was away saving the galaxy from the Ori, doing what she did best and not wasting her time here.

He fell into a fitful doze full of Priors intoning from the book of Origin. Just when he could feel the dream start to _twist, _and Jaffa were going to come into it, he heard a familiar voice behind him advise, "You should listen to the one who was Qetesh."

He opened his eyes and turned over in the bed, staring at Baal, who was lying there, with his head propped up on one hand and looking back at him with a faint smile. Asheron blinked, trying to chase him away. Baal remained there, as solid as the infirmary wall behind him, or so it seemed. "You're not here. I'm dreaming this."

Baal's finger brushed down his nose to his lips, caressing his lower lip. "Does it feel like you're dreaming?" he countered, dropping the finger down Asheron's chin and throat and all the way down the middle of his chest. He moved closer then, and Asheron could feel his body heat and then a leg around his, and a foot sliding along his calf.

"You can't be here," Asheron protested, but leaned forward anyway, mouths joining in a needy, heated kiss.

"Mm, it has been too long," Baal murmured, as his hand made lazy circles on Asheron's stomach, dipping ever lower until Asheron had to part his legs to let Baal between.

"Yes," he agreed, breathlessly, letting Baal touch him however he wanted.

"You know Nerus is a liar," Baal said in a conversational tone all at odds with the intimacy of his hand, "and a coward."

Asheron pressed into the touch. "Please, don't talk about him right now..."

His tongue traced the outer edge of Asheron's ear, and a shiver passed through him. "Nerus follows strength," Baal continued. "Do you really believe he would come bow and scrape to the Tau'ri when there is a power far stronger?"

That hand caressing him made it so hard to think -- arousal was pounding through him already, warm pressure building inside. "Are you -- are you saying he's working for the Ori? Surely not even Nerus is that much of a despicable toad?"

Baal laughed once, the deep echoes thrumming in Asheron's blood. "_Zhir'an, _of course he is. You know Vala is right. What does Nerus gain if he prostrates himself to the Ori?"

"Survival," Asheron answered, biting his lip on the moan welling from deep in his chest.

"Exactly. You must be his god again and force him into revealing the truth," Baal whispered into his ear while his hand caressed him past want and into pure need, as the pressure folded on itself into fire. "Do whatever it takes. Do what these Tau'ri will not."

He came with a jolt of pleasure like lightning up his spine and through his body, and for just one moment, bliss chased away pain and fear. Then his eyes opened.

The dim infirmary surrounded him and Baal was nowhere to be seen of course, but his heart was racing and his loose hospital pants were wet with the proof that the dream had been at least that real.

Licking his dry lips, he thought about the rest. If Nerus was in league with the Ori - or even their unwitting pawn - he was endangering Sam and Turan.

_Do whatever it takes_, the words echoed in his mind. And he would.

* * *

In the morning, Asheron made his way to see Landry, having charmed clothes out of Lieutenant Evans and a pass from the infirmary out of Lam.

Landry was in the briefing room, having seen off another team, when Asheron found him. "General Landry, good morning. I need to question Nerus," he said. "I think Vala's right and he's playing us."

Landry looked curious but not very surprised by the abrupt request, and tapped his folders together against the table. "What are you going to do?"

Asheron answered, in a level voice, "I am going to intimidate him."

"You? Intimidate?" Landry's brows lifted, and his gaze drifted down to Asheron's bad hand. Asheron tucked it in his pants pocket. "Really."

The doubt stabbed him, confirmation that he still looked weak. But appearances weren't all that was important here. "I was, briefly, his ruler," Asheron reminded him. "He obeyed me as Baal's second in command. He didn't like it, but he did it, and he'll still remember that. If he doesn't, I know... some tricks," he said, looking away, but Landry knew enough of his past to understand that Asheron had some expertise in interrogation, though usually from the other side. "I can get to the truth quickly. We may not have much time."

Landry hesitated and then nodded. "All right. I was having my own doubts, especially since he's done absolutely nothing helpful since he arrived. I'll follow you and watch."

"If you wish."

Outside the suite where Nerus was being held, Asheron paused at one of the guards. "I need to borrow your gun."

"You want a sidearm?" Landry asked with surprise and a little suspicion.

"I need a weapon of some kind. I'm not as strong as he is," Asheron admitted bluntly, "and I won't use the ribbon device." He was relieved when Landry approved the transfer. Tucking the gun in the back of his pants where it wouldn't be seen right away, he had the guards open the door and he walked in. The door closed behind him, but he knew he remained under surveillance - though that wasn't going to matter in a moment.

Nerus looked up from his food and it was highly satisfying to see the cheerful grin die away as he realized who was there.

"Well, this is interesting," he murmured, using the Goa'uld voice. "You're alive." He very slowly and wiped his hands on the napkin, giving Asheron a glance head to toe. "You look underfed, would you care to join me?" he invited with a broad gesture.

"Tell me about this Ori device," Asheron demanded.

"I told it all to General -- "

Asheron repeated, coldly, "Tell me about the Ori device."

Nerus stopped and his slow smile was an oily thing full of evil secrets, and in that moment, Asheron knew he was right about Nerus selling them out. "In this place you aren't even Baal's whore," he taunted. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"I hadn't thought about that, but you're right," Asheron said, mildly. "I don't have to worry about how Baal will react when I kill his fat lap dog anymore." He reached behind his belt and drew out the gun. He pointed it at Nerus, using his bad hand to steady it, and pulled the trigger. Twice.

The bullets hit his chest. Nerus slammed backward in his chair, overturning it, his eyes wide with surprise as he fell.

Asheron heard the commotion outside the door, but he ignored it. He walked around to the other side of the table and knelt by the Goa'uld's head. "I know you lied to them. What is the Ori device going to do?"

Nerus gasped, holding his chest with both hands in a vain effort to stop the bleeding. "I cannot believe you -- "

"Speak, Nerus, or you die, right here," Asheron promised. He heard the outer door open and the sound of booted feet running in but focused his attention on Nerus.

"The device draws... " Nerus said, with difficulty, "energy from any source. The more they hit it with, the stronger..."

Asheron jabbed the gun into Nerus throat, cutting him off, understanding the ploy. He shouted, "General, tell Sam to stop! Tell the _Prometheus_ they must not fire the weapon! We're feeding it energy, making it stronger, that naquadriah will make it unstoppable!"

Under the cover of the sounds outside of the general giving orders, Asheron leaned close to Nerus and asked softly, "Do you know where Baal is?"

Nerus could only gasp, "Yes." In his expression was the hope and fear that Asheron would save him.

Asheron was briefly tempted to ask where, but he knew what he had to do. Nerus was weak. Nerus was a traitor. But he didn't feel hate for the Goa'uld, to his own surprise. He didn't feel much at all.

Without another word, only a twitch of his fingers, he pulled the trigger once again. The bullet went through Nerus' neck at the base of his chin. There was very little blood.

Asheron put the gun down and stood up. The SFs had their weapons pointed at him, and Landry was watching him warily, half behind the door.

One of the guards came near and knelt by the body, "He's dead, sir."

Asheron went around the table, darkly amused at the way the SFs parted for him.

"Why?" Landry demanded. "Why did you kill him?"

Asheron thought about what to answer. _Because he deserved it. Because you couldn't trust him to tell the truth. Because I couldn't trust him not to talk. Because he put Sam in danger. Because I wanted to. _Those were all reasons, but he said instead, "Because he betrayed us all to the Ori. And because none of you would do it."

"He could've been a valuable source of intelli--" Landry objected.

"You could never trust anything he said to be true," Asheron cut him off. "The important thing is we know that the Ori **want** us to fire the weapon. Every time they fire any weapon at it, the field strengthens. That naquadriah bomb may give it enough energy to cover the whole planet, and for all I know, rip a permanent hole in space-time."

Landry fell silent and nodded.

Asheron's left hand was throbbing and he rubbed it, wondering if he'd strained the weakened hand trying to hold the gun. But other than that, he searched for feeling anything. He should be remorseful or shocked or even pleased, murdering Nerus like that. He wanted to be glad that he helped Sam.

But there was nothing. It seemed that the more he tried to find something, the less there was, until it was all hollow inside, as though his body was a thin shell around nothingness. In some distant part of him he knew he should fight against it and not be so disconnected, but it was easier to sink into the numbness and not think. Not remember. Not feel.

"I'm going back to the infirmary," he declared abruptly. "I'm tired. If you want to put guards, do what you want, General. I don't care."

He turned at the next intersection and Landry let him walk away, dispatching two of the SF's to follow him at a discreet distance that he heard anyway.

Back in his corner of the infirmary, he put on the television. He flipped through the few channels three times, before stopping at the business channel again when a car advertisement showed him a place that reminded him sharply of the palace gardens on Saphon.

Shutting his eyes and calling himself a fool, he left the television on as low background noise and tried to sleep.

Sleep was elusive, his mind wakeful and busy, even when his body was aching for rest. He turned restlessly on the bed. Imagining Sam's blue eyes and her beautiful smile was painful, and he pushed the thought of her away. After all he'd done, all he deserved was her pity. Or, maybe, since he'd just cold bloodedly murdered someone, maybe he only deserved her disgust.

Insidiously, brown eyes replaced blue and that voice that could make him shiver chided him that he was being ridiculous. Nerus had betrayed them all to the Ori and he deserved to die, so there was no reason to be disturbed.

He heard vaguely, as if at a distance, "..._ The acquisition of Hammel Industries will strengthen our position in manufacturing and tech sectors."_

Asheron's eyes popped open.

It was Baal's voice again, but this time, coming from the television. But that was plainly impossible. Baal would never be on Earth, would never own a company or be on television. He'd fallen asleep and he was dreaming this very surreal dream of Baal giving a press conference on the business channel. Or maybe it was someone who sounded similar.

Baal said more._ "... I have plans for my company's expansion beyond this, as well...." _

It sounded so much like him. Only Baal could say that he had plans and make it sound quite that ominous. But it couldn't be. He was hallucinating again. Wanting something so much he was imagining it. He lifted himself up on his elbows to look, but that didn't help, since the television program had moved on to the next segment and whoever it had been was gone.

He flopped back on the bed, disgusted with himself and his cracking mind that was now hearing things that didn't even exist. But after more restless tossing, he got up and went to the computer to prove to himself whether he was actually crazy or not.

* * *

The discovery that he was not, in fact, completely insane, that Baal really _was _on Earth, sent him out into the corridors. He needed advice and he needed someone who knew at least some of the truth, but most of all he wanted to talk to Selmak.

He encountered Colonel Pierce in the waiting area of the infirmary and asked him if he knew Jacob Carter's current whereabouts.

"General Carter?" Pierce repeated in some confusion, and then he frowned and shifted awkwardly. "Oh. You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?" Asheron asked, suddenly wary, and a cold dread settled under his ribs.

"He ... died," Pierce answered. "A few months ago. I'm sorry."

A great hollow feeling opened up in his chest, and he could barely push the words out, shaking his head in horrified denial. "But ... but Sam told me he was in Washington, helping O'Neill."

Pierce bit his lip and looked regretful, as he shook his head. "No. God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you..."

Asheron pulled in a breath through lungs that felt like claws around his heart. "And Selmak?"

Pierce shook his head sadly. "Selmak was the one who was ill. From what I heard, Selmak was comatose for a few weeks and Jacob refused to let Selmak leave him. And then... that was it. Carter -- Sam -- went to Area 51 after."

Sam had lied to him... Everyone had lied to him that Jacob and Selmak were still alive. They were both dead.

He made himself thank Pierce before he walked away

In the infirmary, he stretched out on the bed fully clothed and looked up at the ceiling, toward the pipes and conduits, but not seeing them. Inside he called for Malek, trying to get him to rouse.

*_Don't leave me alone, you can't leave me alone.* _

There was no warm presence in his mind, only the cold between the stars. Malek was gone.

Asheron knew what he had to do, and once the decision was made, the darkness seemed to lift away. He felt free.

* * *

Landry watched the Tok'ra enter his office and shut the door, curious. Dressed in a black t-shirt and green BDU slacks, Asheron could've been any other soldier under his command. But it had only been a few hours since Asheron had coldly shot Nerus to death, proving he was not a soldier and he was definitely not under Landry's command. He was an alien, and an alien who'd gone through something horrific and might not be entirely sane, besides.

But Landry didn't think he was in any danger. "Please, have a seat," he pointed to the chair opposite his own. "What can I do for you?"

Asheron seemed reluctant to meet his eyes, fixing his gaze on Landry's nameplate after he'd sat down. "We weren't acquainted before, and that gives me an odd feeling that I can be honest with you, General Landry. I hope that's true."

Landry frowned in confusion. "Of course. But I don't understand -- "

"I can't tell Sam. She's trying so hard, and I don't want to hurt her… She's already hurt so much for me…"

Landry began to have a sense of dread about what this was about. It was practically confirmed when Asheron looked up to finally meet his eyes, and Landry saw what he expected to see: the desperation of a man holding onto himself by ragged fingernails.

Asheron nodded slightly. "Yes," he confirmed Landry's realization. "I -- I can pretend for her. And I do. For everyone. But something's … wrong in me. Something's broken."

"Son," Landry started, summoning all the gentleness he could, "you were a captive and tortured for three months. You can't expect to be all better in just a few weeks. It takes time."

But Asheron was shaking his head from the first words. "No, you don't understand." He grasped the fabric of his pants and twisted it absently. "It's different this time."

Landry hesitated, trying to think. This problem was a little out of his league. If one of his men had a psychological problem he'd refer him to a doctor, not deal with it himself. Yet Asheron had come to him, not to Carolyn to ask for help. Which meant he probably had something in mind. "What can I do for you?" he asked, into the silence. "Do you want to go through the gate?"

"No," he shook his head and then lifted it again. "I know where Baal is, General."

Landry sat back in his chair, shocked. "You knew all along?" he asked, impressed and just a little afraid that Asheron had kept the secret, even under brutal torture.

"No." Asheron's gaze slipped toward the wall, as a ghostly smile played on his lips. "I heard his voice. I thought I was hearing things at first, imagining something so hard that I thought it was real. It was a short clip of him speaking."

Landry couldn't help staring in disbelief, struggling to grasp what he was being told. "You're saying -- Baal's here? On Earth?"

Asheron nodded. "He is. I'm the only person on this planet who would recognize him using his human tone, but it's him. He's here." After a moment, he added more softly, "He's going to find out that I'm here and what happened. And when he does, he's going to be very angry. I'd rather that not happen. Plus he's no doubt got some scheme going here that's very dangerous to the people of Earth. What I want is a dose of the symbiote poison to bring to him."

Landry frowned. "You'd kill him? I'm sorry, but -- my understanding was -- that you two -- "

"You misunderstand, General." He rose and moved to the wall, facing away from Landry. "Our era is over. The Goa'uld and the Tok'ra are finished. I want it over. I don't want to remember what I remember, I don't want to be pulled between two people who love me but are enemies. I don't want to constantly fight to keep all the pieces together anymore. The best I can do now is take him with me, so he won't continue to put Earth in danger."

Landry abruptly understood exactly what Asheron really wanted. "That isn't the answer -- " Landry started, appalled.

"There is no other!" Asheron whipped around again, anguished eyes meeting his. "Do you know what I did? Do you know what the Jaffa did to punish me for it? I cannot **live** with all of it!" He put his hands to his bowed head, as though trying to squeeze the memories out of his brain, then he lifted his head to say in a calmer, but more intense voice:

"Thirty years ago, I killed a System Lord. I cut her throat to avenge myself and my people, and I forced her ha'tak to crash into the fields of Hollardan, east of the capital. I embraced the death I believed would follow, knowing that I had done what I could to free my people. I was content that I had done the right thing. And thirty years later, I let myself be seduced into corruption. I knew from the beginning Baal wanted me to rule beside him, he told me so. But I foolishly thought I could change him, when instead he changed me."

For a moment Landry couldn't speak. "Asheron -- "

"Please," he whispered in a hollow, helpless voice. "Malek's dying. I'll die when he does; I don't think anything can stop that now. Just give me the poison, General Landry, let me do this my way."

Landry hesitated, but then finally, he nodded a reluctant acceptance. "All right. If that's what you want."

Dark eyes lifted to meet his, the expression calm and resolute. His tone held not a whisper of doubt. "It is."


	14. Chapter 14

.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**.  
**

Earth was as confusing and overcrowded and noisy as Asheron had expected, but nestled in his cocoon of determination and calm, none of it seemed to matter.

Asheron left the airport terminal building and could feel the watchers. He felt an odd, grim amusement. He'd expected Landry to notify people, despite the agreement that Asheron would go on his own. They thought he was going to lead them to Baal.

_My way, not yours. My hand, not yours._

He got on the airport shuttle instead of the waiting taxi cab, fearing that it was a plant. At the next terminal he got out and hopped into a taxi.

The driver turned around. He was bearded, wearing a turban, and his accent was unexpected, though not difficult to understand. "Where is it you want to go?"

Asheron had thought through his plan on the airplane carefully and had researched it online in the Colorado Springs airport. "The Grand Hyatt downtown."

The taxi pulled out, radioing their destination to his dispatcher as they left the airport.

The hotel had more than five hundred guest rooms. Even if they were pulling up its guest list right now, it would take them awhile to check every name, looking for something that didn't exist.

He added, "I'd like you to take Second Street when you get downtown."

The driver frowned at him and then shrugged. "Second, okay."

Asheron watched out the window, numb and tired. _Malek, are you there?_ He called into the silence of his head. But there was no answer.

The taxi exited the freeway and Asheron removed the wad of money from his jacket with his good hand, removed several twenties, and held them up in front of the partition. He had no idea where Vala had gotten the money, but he felt a little less bad about stealing from her when she'd stolen it first. The credit card and false i.d. Landry had given him for boarding had been far too easy for the SGC to track, and he'd dumped them in the trash. "I need you to stop inside the tunnel and let me out. And then, this part is very important, continue on to the Hyatt."

The driver's eyes saw the money and widened. "You are in some kind of trouble?"

Asheron almost smiled, but just sighed. "Yes. I'm not a criminal, but yes, I'm being watched. If anyone asks you at the Hyatt what happened, you can tell them, it won't matter."

"So the tunnel..." the driver frowned, working it through, then his eyes flicked to the mirror to look at Asheron in astonishment, "you think this taxi, they are watching it from up above?"

"Maybe," Asheron answered. "I don't want to take the chance. Many lives may depend on my getting where I need to go without interference."

_Because if they blunder in, all bold and Tau'ri, he'll set off a counter-measure, and it's liable to be very large and very deadly. _

"Many lives?" the driver repeated. "You a spy or something?"

"Or something." _Assassin. Alien. Collaborator. Lover. Slave. King. What haven't I been? _" Please don't try to guess. Just drop me off in the tunnel and keep going to the Hyatt."

Teeth flashed in a grin. "No problem."

It worked as Asheron planned. The light changed to red, leaving the taxi stuck in the tunnel. Asheron opened the door and climbed out, circling behind the car in the left hand lane, and walked swiftly down the narrow sidewalk like a businessman late for an appointment and fed up with traffic.

He watched the taxi move off when the light turned green and hoped the driver really would drive to the hotel. But in any case, he had to move. There was a parking garage entrance to one of the towers just ahead. He walked in and entered the elevators in the middle. He left his long coat in the elevator, and put his hand in his jacket pocket. He got out at the lobby, went out the front entrance and caught another taxi.

Fairly certain he'd eluded his surveillance, at least for awhile, he gave the taxi driver his destination to a suburban office park and leaned back to watch Earth pass by.

*_Malek?* _he tried again. There was only a vast emptiness and silence. *_Soon. It'll be done soon, I promise. No more suffering, for either of us.*_

* * *

Sam came through the Gate and knew something was wrong immediately. Landry seemed unwilling to meet her eyes. "Colonel. You're back early."

"Yes, sir. _Prometheus_ dropped me off on a world with a gate so I could come home quickly. The others are mopping up, but we stopped them." Her eyes flicked around the room, curious that Asheron wasn't already here to meet her. "Is... Asheron all right?" she asked.

Landry flinched. "Well, colonel, I don't think so. Not really. He killed Nerus, shot him three times, to force him to tell us about the Ori weapon."

Her brows went up but she wasn't that surprised. Asheron had a ruthless practical streak in him, and he'd just spent three months under torture, it was no wonder he had no patience and resorted to violence. "Where is he, sir?"

"He came to me this morning, he said he knew Baal was on Earth," Landry explained all in a rush. "He was determined to take the Tok'ra poison and go kill him, himself."

She stared at him, not comprehending for a very long time what the general was telling her. "Where did he go?" she asked, feeling very calm.

"He flew to Los Angeles. At the airport, Agent Barrett and his people were doing surveillance, but he, uh, slipped through."

"So, Asheron went off to kill Baal with the Tok'ra poison? You do realize that he's a host, too, don't you?" She saw in his face that he understood exactly what he had approved. Her calm deserted her and her hands tightened into fists against her thighs. "How could you?" she demanded furiously. "He's not well. And you let him go kill himself. Killing Baal isn't worth it, General. It's not worth it."

She hurried from the room before she said something that might get her court-martialed, though she wondered why that should matter. In the corridor she took a deep breath, trying to think through the fog in her brain.

She had to stop him. Where would he go? Well, that was obvious, he was going to Baal. So where was Baal?

She went to the infirmary first. There was a note on the table beside the bed, on top of the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. Asheron had written her name on the envelope, and she opened it, her chest tight with anxiety.

She read:

"_Sam, I am sorry. This was never my intention to leave while you were away. I never wanted to leave. But Malek is dying, and I cannot stay alone. The Tok'ra are dead. Turan will have to start over, without our failures and weakness."_

Her hand spasmed shut, crumpling the note. Someone had told him. And he had taken it as well as she expected.

Then taking a breath, she smoothed the note out to finish reading it.

"_I should never have been so selfish with you. You are so bright, so beautiful, and it seemed for a moment when we were here, before we went to Naritania that I could stay with you. But I can't. I should've known better and I should never have made promises to you I knew I couldn't keep. You should have someone whole. And that wasn't ever going to be me, even before we met. It's certainly not me now._

_"You deserve someone not tainted by the things I've done. You shouldn't forgive me, but you do, and I can't bear it. It's not right. Not after everything._

_"I have taken the poison with me, to take to Baal, and I'm not coming back. I believe it's for the best. At least I can take him with me, so he won't ever harm anyone again. When you come back, I'll be gone. That's the way it has to be. _

_"I love you. But that's not enough to stay. I hope someday you will forgive me._"

Below that was the ornate sigil of the first letter of his name in his own language as his signature, and nothing more.

Sam stared at the letter, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.

She read and re-read the letter, until every broken word was engraved in her memory. She should never have left. She should never have believed that deceptively calm and reasoned face, which now, in hindsight, was so clearly a mask designed to make her think he was doing better and thereby push her away. Even his panic attack at the sight of Teal'c hadn't been warning enough that he'd shattered inside, and now he was dead, by his own hand.

Unless...

Her eyes fell on the words, "take to Baal", and she remembered that Landry had said Asheron had left on a plane, heading west. He didn't have too much of a head start. Probably he had thought she would come back with the _Prometheus_, not take the Gate. There might still be time to catch him.

She laid the letter on the table again and hurried to the computer terminal in the corner. With any luck she could back track how Asheron had found Baal.

She wasn't surprised to find that Asheron had reformatted the hard drive. He'd known to cover his tracks. That killed any attempt to check the cache or any other quick way to follow what he'd done. But if he'd run any sort of internet search that record would still be in the mainframe. The SGC was a secret facility after all, and they kept logs of all communications and key strokes. Asheron wouldn't know how to destroy all of those records.

She hurried to her lab. She entered her clearance and passwords to access the central database, looking for Asheron's access. There was one, last night, but it was only a few minutes, and all he'd done was go to one of the web search engines, before logging out again. It looked like he hadn't even typed in a search.

Putting her chin to her fist, she stared at the single entry. He'd done it. Somehow he'd managed to tamper with the record. She was impressed, in spite of herself. Suicidal depression or no, he'd been thinking clearly enough to erase his tracks in the computer. It didn't seem possible. Asheron was smart but he didn't know the system that well and he didn't have Malek to help him.

Her eyes traveled down the list of accesses, looking for another entry. Maybe he'd gone back in and she'd missed it.

She hadn't but she had missed something else. Not long after his first attempt, there was a log-on by Samantha Carter, when she had been a hundred light-years away. She had given him her basic log-on code early on, before he had one of his own.

She called up the entry. He'd first searched for Hammel Industries. From there he'd gone through that company's press releases, and then done a new search on the company in the database of the Financial News channel. Frowning, she followed his tracks, clicking through the webpages. Baal must somehow be involved in this company, but she couldn't find the connection. Nor, it seemed, could Asheron, considering how many pages he clicked through, searching for _**something**_.

"What were you looking for?" she murmured. "Come on. Show me what you found."

She clicked on the next link in the list, this one from a business blog all about Hammel's merger with another company, Farrow-Marshall. She almost went on to the next link in the list, but scrolled down to the bottom of the page, just in case.

"Oh my God," she whispered. There, in full color, was a picture of Baal. He was wearing a very incongruous pinstripe suit, but it was definitely the same person who had sent her that message three months ago. The label on the picture said he was "Nathaniel Newmark, CEO of Farrow-Marshall."

Asheron was right. Baal was here on Earth.

The next handful of links were Asheron's attempt to find the Farrow-Marshall homepage and contact information. Following in his steps, she wrote down the address and contact number for their headquarters in Southern California. That was where he was gone, she was sure.

Then she froze. What the hell was she going to do? Take this information to Landry? Have Landry pass it on to Barrett and whoever else he had in the area looking for Asheron? Get Barrett to go crash the place? Baal would retaliate, and he'd probably believe Asheron had brought them there. No, she wanted to save Asheron's life and that would kill him as surely as if she did nothing.

She remembered his face and his words, back on Saphon, "_But he gave me back to myself when I didn't know who I was."_

Her heart was heavy, but there wasn't much choice. She knew what she had to do. If only she had the time to do it.

* * *

Baal didn't believe what Charlotte told him, until he went through the door into the conference room and saw Asheron sitting on the couch.

His breath seemed to freeze for a moment in his chest and he had to stop moving. His gaze was fixed on the slumped form, and for a wild second, wondered if the humans had cloned him or something, because this _couldn't be_. He was dead. Baal had been plotting to punish the Tau'ri for their part in it for several months now.

Yet here he was. Alive. He was wearing Tau'ri clothes, including a rather unstylish blue jacket that hung limply off his narrow shoulders. So he had been on the planet, probably at the SGC, despite the intel from there that he'd been killed at Dakara. Or perhaps he had gone to Area 51 with Carter after all.

He looked up and saw Baal. He wasn't surprised, but Baal was. Asheron looked terrible, he was far too thin, with hollow cheeks and sunken, bruised eyes. There was no decipherable expression on his face: no smile, no concern, nothing. He didn't speak either.

"Asheron, it is you." Baal closed the door behind him. "Forgive my ... startlement, but I believed you dead. Have you been well?"

He answered, a clear and obvious lie, "I'm fine."

Abandoning that line of questioning for now, Baal asked, folding his arms, "So, how did you find me?"

"If you want to keep a low profile, you should stop giving media interviews," Asheron answered, the emotion stripped from his voice.

Of course, the point was to get the Tau'ri's attention, but Baal wasn't going to go into his plan, not until he knew why Asheron was here.

"You led them here? Are the Tau'ri going to invade the building soon?" he demanded.

"No. I tried not to let them follow."

Something warmed inside Baal, and he couldn't help a smile. "You've come back?"

Wordlessly, Asheron shook his head, but he wasn't looking away. There was a strange dark intensity in his gaze that made Baal wary. He'd seen Asheron in many moods, but not like this. Usually Asheron was at least somewhat predictable, but now Baal had no read on what he wanted or what he was thinking.

"If you haven't betrayed me with the Tau'ri, and you aren't coming back to me, then, why are you here?"

Asheron didn't answer the question. He asked instead, more to himself, whispering, "Why can't I do this?" His face tightened in pain, and Baal swallowed the angry demands that bubbled inside him. Something was wrong, that much was clear.

He asked the question as patiently as he could, "Asheron, where have you been the last four months?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You look ill. Is something wrong with Malek?" he asked, having a sudden idea of the problem. Perhaps Asheron was here to learn if there was a sarcophagus he could use. He'd been resistant to using it before, but perhaps he had reconsidered.

"Just stop it," Asheron flared, but wearily. "Stop making this hard!" He put his free hand, the one not buried in his jacket pocket, up to his head.

"Stop doing what?" Baal asked in confusion since he hadn't been doing anything. He moved closer. "There is clearly something wrong with you. If I am to help, I need to know what it is."

"You can't help," Asheron murmured. "Nobody can." He raised his head, found Baal in front of him, and his eyes widened in fear, as he jerked back against the sofa, away.

Hurt and surprised, Baal raised his hands and backed off a step. "Asheron, I would never harm you. Even if you are provoking and frustrating."

"I -- I was just surprised," Asheron answered. He looked down again, at his right hand on his knee. His left hand was still in his jacket pocket. "I'm so tired," he murmured, and that sounded like the truth. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I was a fool to come here."

"No. I am pleased to see you and know you're alive. What happened on Dakara? Did you go with the Tau'ri?"

Asheron shook his head slightly, eyes on his knees. "No."

A terrible suspicion crept through Baal. Asheron had been _**somewhere**_ the last few months, and it was likely an unpleasant place given his appearance and reluctance to speak. Perhaps the Tau'ri – some group of them apart from the SGC - had captured him at Dakara. Yet that would most likely be the Trust, and he couldn't believe any of them would have kept Asheron's presence a secret from him.

But before he could try and figure it out, the door opened again and Charlotte put her head through the opening. "Sir, forgive me, but there is an urgent telephone call for you."

"If it's business -- " he started dismissively.

She interrupted, unusually so, and her gaze flicked to Asheron meaningfully. "Sir, you need to take it."

"Very well. Asheron, stay here," he ordered. "Do not go anywhere. I'll return immediately."

* * *

Sam waited for the company operator to transfer the call and waited impatiently while the other end began to ring. She tapped her fingers restlessly on the steering wheel and checked her mirrors in paranoid thought that someone might already know she was making this call.

Finally someone picked up, a female voice. "Farrow-Marshall. Charlotte Mayfield."

Sam's hand clutched the phone to her ear, and spoke very precisely. "Listen to me very carefully. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter of the US Air Force. Perhaps you know the name?" she asked but didn't wait for an answer. "It is **urgent** that I talk to Baal. Right now."

"You want to talk to -- Who?" Mayfield started to say in what sounded like pretended confusion to Sam.

"Baal," Sam repeated shortly. "Your boss: dark hair, beard, rather arrogant? He's calling himself Nathaniel Newmark. I know he's there, and I know he'll want to talk to me. So go find him, right now."

There was a brief pause and Mayfield said, "I'll see if he's available."

Sam waited impatiently, shifting in her seat. "Come on, Baal. Come to the phone," she urged in a whisper. "Please don't let me be too late."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of Asheron's hastily scrawled farewell note.

There was a soft click and a vaguely British-accented voice came on the line. It was a human tone, but she recognized it anyway, just by the smug condescension. "Well, Colonel Carter, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She licked her lips and asked, "Is Asheron there?"

He paused a moment and answered, "He is, as I'm sure you know very well, having sent him. But I must say he seems reluctant to do anything but sit on my couch and lie to me."

Her fingers tightened. "We didn't send him; it's his idea. That's why I'm calling you, so you can stop him."

His voice lost some of its urbane calm, and he snapped, "Explain."

"When we thought he was dead, obviously he wasn't," she told him. "He was a prisoner of a faction of the rebel Jaffa."

"He was captive?" he said, sounding more disturbed than surprised. "What happened? Something did."

"He was … tortured," she answered, trying to shove away the memory of what he had looked like that first time she had seen him. "Teal'c only found him two weeks ago and brought him to us. Physically he's better now, but … mentally, he's not at all."

"The Jaffa did this?" Baal asked, his tone growing cold and dangerous, silently suggesting that he was planning to exterminate every single Jaffa.

"That's not the point!" she exclaimed in frustration. "Please, listen to me. Teal'c took care of it. But Malek's in a coma, and nobody can fix him. He could die, like Selmak and my father did. Worse, Asheron left me a note: he feels helpless and trapped between us. He wants to kill himself and take you with him."

"He wants to kill -- " he repeated slowly, in shock.

"With the symbiote poison. He has some with him," she told him, feeling that niggling sense of betrayal. The military officer part of her knew she should just let it play out, but the Tok'ra part of her, the human part, couldn't bear Baal's death to come at the price of Asheron's. Especially when he was acting out of depression and trauma and not rational thought. "That you're both still alive means he's hesitating, but I don't think it's enough."

More to himself, Baal murmured, "Asheron…" She didn't think it was her imagination that Baal sounded stricken by what she'd said. It made her feel slightly better about what she was about to say.

"So here's my deal," she said, trying to strengthen her voice. "You win. He's yours. Take him with you. But you have to leave Earth. I'm going to tell Agent Barrett of the NID where you are in twenty minutes, that should be long enough for you to get away."

"You would do this?" Baal asked skeptical of her promise. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather have him alive, than you dead," she answered honestly. "And …" she almost couldn't bring herself to say the words, "because you know how to help him. I don't." Sam had tried her best, but it wasn't enough.

She drew in a shaky breath and could barely whisper as she added, "Please just… just… love him. If you can."

He took a moment to answer and when he did, it was in the most honest, naked tone she had ever heard a Goa'uld use -- somewhat bitter, somewhat amused, and very pained. "Oh, we love. We try to eliminate it as a weakness, but sometimes, no matter what we do, it never leaves us. I first saw Asheron of Naritania thirty-four years ago and not a day has passed that I did not wish him beside me."

She nodded, feeling a little reassured, if not really better. "Good. "

After a moment, he continued, in a more thoughtful tone, "This explains much. He really does look terrible, and he refused to explain why."

"They almost killed him," she said, unable to help herself. Odd, but Baal was the only truly sympathetic ear she had for this, because at least they both seemed to share the same feelings. "I had to use the healing device three times and he still took two days to open his eyes."

"You are certain Teal'c took care of it?" he demanded.

"Gerak's still alive," Sam offered, knowing exactly what she was doing. Baal killed over an insult -- what could he do to the person responsible for torturing his lover? "Teal'c kicked him off the council and took most of his power base but he's still alive. Gerak was the one who ordered the torture and refused to believe anything Asheron told him."

She could imagine the chilling smile on Baal's face as he murmured, "Did he? I will have to find out how far my reach still extends."

"But not here, not from Earth," she said. "Take your operation someplace else. Now that you have him back, you have to go away. Someplace where neither of you can be found for awhile, because I can promise the Jaffa are still looking. So, go."

"I will, Samantha. I… thank you," he said, as though surprised to be saying those words. "I thought he was dead and now you have found him and given him back to me."

She gave a bitter laugh. "It's not like I want to. I want him with me. Don't make me more noble than I am. I thought he was dead, too, and I can't bear the thought of it coming true. Just take care of him. And hurry back before he talks himself into breaking the seal."

After a moment, he added, "This I give you, Samantha. You are Tok'ra now, too, and you can wait if you wish. When he is well, he will have his choice of where to go. I will not keep him against his will, never again."

Sam chose to believe him, because it was too late to have second thoughts anyway. "You think you can help Malek?" she asked.

"Certainly," he answered with reassuring confidence, which Sam hoped was more than Goa'uld arrogance. "Asheron will come to no harm, I promise you."

Then without farewell, the connection closed and Sam shut her phone.

Fifteen minutes was just enough time to get back to the mountain, get checked in again, and then go tell Landry what she had learned.

She hoped Baal could stop Asheron from opening the poison, and that he could do as he said and help Malek, but even if he couldn't, she believed he would try.

Within, though, Turan mourned, still echoing the grief and fear from before.

*_Hush, little one. I've done all I can to save them both. It's in other hands now.*_

She soothed Turan back to quiet, and even though she'd just sent someone she cared about to a notorious Goa'uld, she had the peace of feeling she had made the right decision.

* * *

Baal entered his sitting room, and as he shut the door behind him, he announced, "I just had the most interesting telephone call --"

But the words dried in his mouth as he caught sight of Asheron, who was huddled on the couch where he'd left him, staring vaguely down at his knees. His left hand was still tucked into his jacket pocket, where Baal was now sure he was holding the poison.

In that moment when Asheron was distracted, Baal knew Carter was right. His mate was diminished now, shrunken in on himself, as though all his hope and strength had been pulled from him, leaving only a battered shell.

*O_h, zhir'an, what am I to do with you?*_ he wondered silently and strode forward. Aloud, he called, "Asheron? Are you well?"

Asheron jerked and his head flew upward, terror flashing through his eyes until he realized where he was. Baal resolved to kill Gerak very slowly at least twice.

"Oh, yes, sorry, what were you saying?" Asheron asked, trying to cover his lapse with a painful effort.

Baal held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Asheron blinked, in apparently honest confusion, and leaned away from his hand. "What?"

"The poison."

That earned a wide-eyed shocked stare. "The… what?" he asked, now trying to dissemble. But his hand did not come out of his pocket.

Gently, Baal explained, "Samantha Carter just spoke to me. She is going to inform the government about my presence in fifteen minutes, and we must be gone by then. But before we escape, I must insist that you give me the poison. Now."

The hand came out of his pocket slowly. At first, Baal didn't even see the small plastic vial filled with a virulent green liquid, cradled in his palm. He could see only the hand, and its first two fingers turned to bony claws. "Asheron…" he murmured in dismay, "your hand… what happened to your hand?" He sank to one knee, reaching out to the mangled fingers as if he might be able to heal them with only his touch. Only one quarter of a year ago, a span of hardly any time at all, this hand had been warm and whole and touching him in pleasure.

It also was proof that Malek was badly injured, as Carter had said. Baal could not find it in himself to be glad about that, not when his mate was in such a precarious mental state.

Carter's words seemed to echo in his memory and acquire new meaning: Asheron had been tortured. The Jaffa had tortured him. They had hurt him and he was still hurt. If Malek died, Asheron would, too. That knowledge pierced through him like nothing ever had, not the sharpest knife or the hottest staff blast had ever hurt him more.

His promise to Carter likewise seemed to take on new strength, warming him, sealed in his blood: Asheron would come to no more harm.

Asheron drew back from him, and his hand closed around it again. Baal couldn't help tensing at the sight, knowing that little liquid was enough to kill both of them immediately, even if they were at the opposite end of the building.

"There's no place for us," Asheron whispered, ignoring the question. "Our time is done. We should end it."

Baal lifted his gaze from Asheron's hand, knowing he would never be able to stop even those fingers from breaking the seal in time. Instead he watched Asheron's face and spoke swiftly, "We are together, Asheron. Together we cannot be defeated."

"We **were** defeated," Asheron reminded him, in a low, dead voice. "Everything we built is destroyed. Every place we could go is gone. All of our people are dead. There's nothing left."

"There are new things to build. New places to find." He tried a small smile to cajole Asheron. "The galaxy is very large. Surely we two -- we three --" he added, for Malek's benefit, "can find a place to be."

Asheron shook his head once in the negative. But Baal paid little attention, turning the thought over in his mind. Where **could** they go, really? The Jaffa would continue to pursue him if he returned to any of the Goa'uld worlds, which would put Asheron at risk again of captivity. That was unacceptable.

Then a bold idea struck. He straightened, wondering if it would possibly work. It might, he decided. But only if he moved quickly.

"We're leaving," he announced and stood up again. "I am sorry, Asheron, but your plan will have to wait. We are not dying today."

Asheron whispered with disturbing intensity, "It has to end. I feel that place, I can't go back there. It's all around me…" He gestured vaguely with the hand holding the poison vial, fingers loosening, and Baal took his chance, darting forward to pluck it from his palm.

Holding the vial securely in one hand, he closed the other around Asheron's thin wrist and lifted him to his feet. "Come. We must hurry." Asheron allowed him to pull him from the room, unresisting. It was very strange and ominous that Asheron was so compliant, but Baal had to put that problem aside for more urgent concerns. He considered all the steps he was going to have to take to make this hasty plan work and made a disgruntled sound, muttering. "Perhaps the cloning program was something I should have initiated after all."

Charlotte was waiting in the corridor for his instructions. "Evacuate the facility immediately," he ordered. "And set the detonators for ten minutes. I want nothing salvageable from this location at all."

"Yes, sir," she answered and hustled away to see to it, whipping out her cell phone.

They took the car out to the desert where his cloaked al'kesh rested, and he was pleased to see it remained untouched. He put Asheron in the co-pilot's seat and piloted them away from the Earth. He felt a small amount of regret for his abandoned plans as he parked the ship beyond the lunar orbit to wait, but when he glanced to the side at Asheron's blank, thin face, he knew he could do nothing else.

They had to escape and they had to find safety. And where would be safer from the Jaffa than another galaxy entirely?

* * *

He followed in Baal's wake, pulled along irresistibly. He couldn't seem to focus on what was happening, continually losing the thread of where they were and what they were doing. They were moving a lot, but to what purpose he didn't know, from car to ship. They were on one of the ships for what seemed like days, and then he was sure he was hallucinating the cold tingle of a transport beam.

He was, however, certain that at some point Baal used both the healing device and the ribbon device on the back of his neck, muttering Goa'uld oaths at Malek under his breath. Asheron liked the feel of both together; there was no pain, only warmth passing through his body like a tropical rain across his skin, and he was completely _**aware**_again. Best of all, there was an ember of life in the back of his mind that hadn't been there in an eternity.

He smiled at Baal and brushed a hand across the grey button-down shirt, with its collar open and sleeves rolled up, to wrap his fingers around the sinewy muscles of Baal's forearm. "I feel him again. Thank you."

"The things I do for you," Baal teased softly, and leaned forward slowly, giving Asheron plenty of time to move back or resist. But he didn't want to do either, and joined their mouths eagerly.

The kiss lasted until Baal's hand slid up his left arm to rest on his shoulder, and something _slipped_ inside his head. He yanked himself back, away, pressing against the wall, panicked pants torn from his lungs.

"Asheron?" Baal asked in concern.

Asheron shook his head. The room where they were hiding was too small. It was brightly lit, but Asheron felt the shadows pressing in on him, from all sides. Distant voices were saying something, but he couldn't hear the words.

He closed his eyes, but the dark made it worse. His hand ached, throbbing, and caused sympathetic pains to pass through him. When he opened his eyes again, Gerak was there, holding the sha'nik prongs again, and Asheron hit his head on the wall, trying to jerk backward.

It wasn't Gerak, it was Baal, with his hand raised toward him. "Asheron?" he repeated.

"I can't -- " he tried to explain what was happening, halting and less coherent than he meant. "I can't make it stop anymore. Malek can't help, and I can't stop them from coming back. I can't hold on…"

A strong arm was around him suddenly, and gentle fingers brushed the hair back from his face. "I am here, and you are safe now. They are memories, no more. Let them out and ease their hold on you."

Asheron shook his head, trembling, clutching Baal's shoulders and trying to focus very intently on the line of the collar bone in front of him.. "No, no. I can't. I can feel -- it's going to take over - I don't think I'll come back."

"Stop fighting so hard, _zhir'santh_," Baal murmured. "Let go. I am here, and I will not leave you. Tell me about how they captured you."

"They, they killed Tel'nor," he started, shivering and trying not to remember, just speak the words. "And I fell unconscious. When I woke up, we were in a room underground. It was dark - and he came in with the sha'nik prongs..."

He saw them again, right before his eyes, shining. His rescue, his recovery, everything that happened afterward was wiped out in an instant, because he was there again. He had never left.

* * *

To be concluded!


	15. Chapter 15

_The conclusion! _

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

.

Elizabeth Weir heard the distinctive whine of the _Daedalus_ transporter and turned in surprise. Caldwell hadn't notified her of any transports, especially not one directly to the control room.

Two men beamed in, not ten feet from her. The darker haired, bearded one in the gray dress shirt was holding the other against him.

But she knew that face. She had seen it in the first briefing she'd ever seen on the Stargate Program, and continued to see it in reports.

Baal.

He glanced around at the control room, lifted his brows in what might have been curious interest at the technology, but then his gaze found hers, recognizing her. "Elizabeth Weir? This is not exactly how I planned this to happen," he said, with a touch of wry humor in his human-tone and an odd accent she tried to place automatically. "But I have run out of time and choices."

She glanced around, glad to see that Sheppard had gotten the security team's guns out and pointed at Baal, who ignored them.

Ignoring the lump of fear in her chest, she ordered, "Release your hostage, or we don't talk."

"He is not my hostage!" Baal snapped irritably. "Besides, if I let him go, he'll fall. He needs your help."

Now that he had pointed it out, she could see that the other man didn't look well. He was standing, but only was upright because of Baal's grip. His lotar? His prisoner? Either way, it didn't matter, really. She had to get him away from Baal.

Without taking her eyes off Baal, she activated her commlink. "Weir to Beckett. We have a medical emergency in the control room."

She heard him acknowledge and then, distracting her, the man Baal was holding stirred. His head, which had been lolling on Baal's shoulder, lifted.

The security twitched imagining that Baal was doing something and she ordered, "Hold!"

He turned his head and Weir could see his face for the first time. His face looked far too thin and his eyes were sunken. He looked confused and maybe even frightened when he saw all the men with guns turned on him, and drew closer to Baal. "What -- " he started to speak.

Baal changed his grip, the hand he had around the back shifted to support him. "Hush," he murmured. "You're safe. You are safe, I promise."

She blinked in surprise at the gentle tone, and then shook it off as some sort of mind-game. If Baal thought a show of sympathy was going to get her to lower her guard, he was wrong.

But there was no doubt that the other man closed his eyes and seemed to relax. There was a stand-off then: everyone was still, waiting for the moment to break.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

He glanced down at the man leaning against him. "As I said, I came for your help. Asheron has not eaten in five days. Not that I can blame him entirely, since the food on the _Daedalus _is terrible."

Someone behind her snickered, and she knew that someone had no idea who they were dealing with. Baal was one of the most dangerous of the Goa'uld, precisely because he was one of the least Goa'uld-like.

A clatter announced Carson's arrival. He and one of the nurses came forward. Carson also started to approach carelessly until she warned him, "Doctor. He's a Goa'uld."

Carson hesitated briefly.

Baal flicked a glance upward, rolling his eyes. "Please. I am unarmed. And I intend no one harm, least of all the doctor."

Carson moved forward, apparently taking Baal at his word. "How is he injured?"

"He's not. Not anymore. But he's growing weaker. He barely ate our journey here."

"May I?" Carson asked perfunctorily and touched Asheron's back. Asheron jerked as though he'd been struck, and Carson's gaze snapped up to Baal's. "That's not all that's wrong, is it?"

"No," Baal answered. "You must be ... careful, doctor. He is in a fragile state."

Asheron stirred again, but only to raise his chin this time. "I'm right here," he muttered. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"Lad, how do you feel?" Carson asked, leaning near him.

Elizabeth's heart was in her throat. Baal could easily trade hostages if he wanted to -- he could have his hand around Carson's throat before any of them could do anything to stop him.

But Baal did nothing, still clasping Asheron to his chest.

"Dizzy," Asheron answered faintly. "Sick. And I can't think. I keep remembering and I can't stop -- "

She had rarely heard Carson sound so gentle and soft, and he put a hand on Asheron's arm. "Well, lad, can you come with me? Let's get you tucked up in bed and start getting you fixed up. All right? Can ye let go and come with me?"

"It's all right," Baal reassured him, "The doctor will help you." He helped transfer Asheron to the gurney the assistant pulled close. "Lie down," he urged and got him down on its surface, even though Asheron seemed resistant.

He grabbed Baal's hand. "You'll come?"

"Of course I will, _zhir'santh._" he promised. She wondered what the Goa'uld term meant and resolved to look it up as soon as she had a moment. She felt briefly sorry that he wasn't going to make able to keep that promise. But there was something very horrible going on here and she had no doubt whatsoever that Baal was at fault for it.

The medical team started to push the gurney away. Baal started after it, until the muzzles of the guns came up, stopping him. "I see," he said and folded his arms. "Very well."

"Colonel Sheppard, take Baal to Steve's holding cell. If he tries to escape, kill him," she ordered. She heard a few people draw in a shocked breath, finally realizing who this was.

Baal raised his hands in an overly dramatic gesture of surrender, and followed Sheppard tamely enough. But when he passed, he gave her a rather mocking smile that suggested it was just a matter of time before he made a move and revealed his true agenda.

First she needed to know whether Asheron was a willing accomplice or a victim.

* * *

By the time she arrived at the infirmary, Carson's patient was in a bed and one of the nurses was helping him take off his shirt.

Carson beckoned her to his side of the room where he was watching and he spoke to her softly, not taking his eyes away from the scene before them, "Did you see his hand, Elizabeth?"

She hadn't until he pointed it out, but she saw that his hand was -- twisted. Two of the fingers were bony claws, resting loosely on the top of the sheet.

Carson went on, "Either nerve damage or bad arthritis, I'm not sure without an x-ray. And that," he jerked his chin at the direction of the bed, "isn't the result of only two weeks of poor eating."

She was no doctor but she had to agree. Now that his shirt was off, she could count ribs all the way up.

The nurse's gaze flared with shock as she got a good look at his back. "Doctor!"

Carson hurried over to see what she was looking at. "Oh, dear Lord, who did this to you? That Goa'uld?"

"No," Asheron protested. "Not Baal."

At Carson's crooked finger she drew nearer to see. His back was a mass of scarring, but worse, she could see he was twitching with small tremors that reminded her strongly of a beaten dog.

She started to ask who, but Carson held up a finger to stop her. "Let's not worry about that right now," Carson said. "Asheron, is that your name?"

He nodded once.

"That's good. Is it a common name where you're from?" Carson asked, making conversation but interrupted himself, "Oh, now, what's this?" He peered intently at Asheron's upper spine and prodded at something on the back of his neck. "That's not just scar tissue, that's more of a -- There's something in there -- " Then his eyes widened and he pulled back. "You have a Goa'uld."

"I'm not a-- " he started but stopped, no doubt realizing that protests would be futile.

She waited, holding her breath for him to do something, for his eyes to flash, or for him to attack. But he didn't move.

Carson had taken two steps back, but he stopped and frowned at the Goa'uld on the bed. "Asheron?" he asked.

"Carson!" she protested as he moved back to the side of the bed.

"It's okay," he murmured, leaning down to look in the Goa'uld's face. "Nobody's home." He pushed lightly on his patient's shoulder, and Asheron tipped backward to slump against the raised head half of the bed.

"Restraints," she suggested. "He may look harmless, but he's not. He's as strong as a Wraith."

Carson shook his head. "Elizabeth, look at him. He's been through -- "

"He came here with Baal," she reminded him sharply. "They're both Goa'uld, that makes them liars."

Carson nodded, reluctant to do it, but she knew he would. He signaled two of the guards to help him.

But the moment Asheron was flat on his back and one of the guards grabbed his wrist to fit it into the restraints, he went berserk.

"No!" he screamed and yanked free, rolling over and off the bed. A cart toppled over with a crash, and he tripped on it, falling to his hands and knees.

One of the guards pulled a gun.

"No, don't," Carson yelled. "Just hold him."

That was easier said than done. He fought with flailing arms and kicking legs, like a man possessed. But it was all unthinking panic and he wasn't so strong that two big men couldn't subdue him in a few minutes.

His eyes were wild, darting around, as his body heaved continuing to try to free himself, despite the guards' grip on his limbs.

It took her a moment to understand what he was whispering in his harsh, panting voice, "Please, no, no, no more, no more -- "

A cold shiver of horror spread across her skin. Begging for mercy. Since she couldn't imagine a Goa'uld begging like that, this had to be the host... She was glad when Carson gave him a needle full of something that knocked him out. They put him in the bed and fastened the wrist restraints. Carson continued his treatment, putting in an i.v. line, drawing a blood sample and running the medical scanner over him.

Then Carson came to talk to her.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Panic attack," he answered. "I'll have to talk to Kate, but I'm quite sure he was tortured. Extensively," Carson added, with his gentle eyes reflecting the horror. "Both host and parasite. Those marks on the back of his neck are burns from some sort of electrode applied to the Goa'uld directly. Its life signs appear to be weak."

"Will it die?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I've got no idea. I need to consult with the SGC, I didn't expect to have to deal with a Goa'uld out here. But y'have a Goa'uld -- I should consult with him as well."

"Carson, it's **Baal**. We can't trust anything he says," she said.

Beckett shrugged. "His own kind, and he seems to want him to live. I think he'll help."

"Let me find out why he's here first," she said. "Meanwhile, keep this one restrained and drugged until we know what's going on."

"He's not going anywhere," Carson confirmed.

* * *

The guard area outside the holding room had Sheppard, Ronon, Rodney and three marines. They were all watching the monitors, but turned when she came in.

"I see he didn't try to escape," she said. Baal was inside the clear-composite-and-metal cube in the middle of the other room. He was standing there, with his arms folded, looking bored. He wasn't trying to engage the two guards outside his cell in conversation.

"Nope," Sheppard said, sounding disappointed.

"He doesn't look dangerous," Ronon said.

She chuckled. "That Goa'uld had about a third of our galaxy under his thumb last year."

"The Jaffa kicked his ass," Sheppard reminded her, making her smile.

She nodded and didn't add that the only reason the rebel Jaffa had succeeded was because Baal's forces had been spread thin against Anubis and the Replicators. He probably didn't have too many warm fuzzy feeling for Earth after losing his empire.

But what the hell was he doing here? She was sure he was playing some kind of game, but what? And to what end?

"I'm going to speak to him.'

"Elizabeth, it's Baal," Rodney objected

"He's in a cell that can hold a Wraith," she said. "Goa'uld are strong, but not that strong. He's in there until we let him out. I'll be fine."

He had let himself be captured, that was plain. He had beamed into the control room, right into the middle of the highest permanent security in the entire city.

She went through the door, waved the two guards out and she was alone with the Goa'uld. He looked up and the mildly irritated expression faded to a polite smile. "Doctor Weir."

How was it that he was behind two inches of unbreakable plastic and a forcefield, and her heart was suddenly thumping with fear? She forced herself to breathe slowly and not lick her dry lips, trying to hide how much his presence unnerved her.

"Baal," she answered.

"How is Asheron?" he asked, with what seemed to be genuine concern.

"He's in the infirmary, under Doctor Beckett's care," she answered and gave a little smile. "I assume Asheron is the name of his symbiote?"

She'd thought he might be disappointed to know they had so quickly figured out that his companion was also a Goa'uld, but he answered without his expression flickering, "Asheron is the name of the host, Malek is his symbiote. But Malek is Egeria's offspring - he would insist strongly on being called a Tok'ra."

At first, she thought he had to be lying. The man in the infirmary had to be a Goa'uld, not a Tok'ra. "I thought the Tok'ra were extinct."

"They are. Except for Malek and the symbiote that Colonel Carter has," Baal answered.

Suddenly everything seemed to make more sense and she nodded. "You went through a great deal of trouble to hide on the _Daedalus_, just to have a private place to torture him?"

He took a sudden step forward, the amiable mask dropping away for pure dangerous anger, "I have _**never**_ hurt him. The Jaffa did. They held him for almost four months, torturing him and Malek to the edge of death."

"The Jaffa did that? she asked, dismayed, remembering the scars and the mangled hand and the look of empty terror in his eyes.

"You see what they do with freedom," he sneered.

"All right, you've explained why he's in such terrible shape. But not your interest. If he's a Tok'ra, isn't he your enemy?"

The dark flame of anger in his eyes banked and the amiable smile returned, "No. We are not enemies. Asheron and I are mates."

She knew she was staring, knew he was amused by her shock, but she couldn't help it. "Mates? You mean - as in - ?"

"Mates," he answered with gleaming satisfaction. "Yes. Asheron is the only thing that matters to me right now. I came here to find refuge for us -- he needs time and safety to heal, and he will not find that in our own galaxy where the Jaffa can find us."

She felt as though she was reeling. Picking out the most important part of what he said, she asked, "Refuge? Why would I consider -- for an instant -- giving _**you**_ refuge on Atlantis? The first thing I'm going to do is throw you through the wormhole back to Earth, and let General O'Neill deal with you."

He didn't appear disturbed by the threat, or the least repentant over the reminder of what he had done to O'Neill. If anything his smirk widened. "You could, of course. But I think you would be unwise to do that."

He waited, and she knew she was going to have to ask. There was another shoe waiting to drop, and she had to find it. "Okay, what's going to happen if I send you through the gate?"

She expected a threat, but his answer was a surprise.

He cocked his head slightly to one side, regarding her. "I am no threat to you. I come to you with no weapons, no power base. Nothing but what I'm wearing and my mate. But I can offer you much more."

"Oh?" she folded her arms and waited. "Like what?"

"You are fighting the Wraith, a very old race far in advance of you technologically. Do you have anyone on your staff with four thousand years of experience in warfare?" he asked pointedly. "Or, like Malek, with two thousand or so years as a member of a galactic intelligence gathering network? No, you do not."

She looked at him, feeling suddenly intrigued. Because he was right, though she would never have considered it. From what she'd read, Baal was and always had been a competent Goa'uld warlord, and that was saying something. And the Tok'ra were very able infiltrators and spies.

He went on, "Not to mention we both have extensive knowledge of Ancient technology. And when he is well, Asheron is a highly capable administrator -- he ran most of my empire last year. We have a great deal of expertise we could offer. In exchange for a place here."

She caught herself nodding and wondered what the hell she was thinking. She was insane. She was actually considering this. Letting him stay here would be having a war criminal on staff. He had countless deaths on his hands and no remorse. He had tortured people, probably for no better reason than boredom or pleasure. The fact that he seemed to be showing some caring for his lover meant nothing -- didn't the phrase go that even Hitler had loved someone?

But…

And that was the _realpolitik_ of her position raising that little "but". But could she afford to throw away a resource like this? In the war against the Wraith they really were outmanned and outgunned. Baal had nearly conquered the galaxy, and not all of it by force of arms. Some of it had been political cunning and strategic alliances as well. She could use that sort of ability.

No. She couldn't do it. Even if it would be practical, she couldn't do it.

Looking at him, she had to swallow hard. He was perfectly composed, with an air about him that suggested he was the one in control. He was weaponless, defenseless, and she could have him killed, but he stood there in his cell, at ease.

And wasn't that what she needed? her ruthless side asked quietly. Sheppard tried, and Caldwell helped, but neither of them had the military knowledge, especially of fighting wars in space, that the … creature in front of her did.

He must have realized she was in a quandary and decided to put his last card on the table. His mouth tightened in a little grimace. "I will give you a guarantee for my good behavior, Doctor Weir. Your guards took from me a small vial with a green liquid inside." She frowned, wondering if Baal was now getting to the threat. He explained, "It contains the symbiote poison. I assure you, if you break the seal in here, I will die. Instantly. Depending on the filtration systems of the city, Asheron and Malek may also die."

He still seemed to be calm, but she noticed his jaw was clenched.

When he saw that he had her attention, he said, "Do with it what you will. I would ask you not punish Asheron for my deeds, however. He has suffered quite enough on my behalf already."

She watched him, unblinking for a long moment, wondering if he was serious. He endured her regard without flinching. "You mean that, don't you?" she asked finally. "He means that much to you?"

"He means everything to me," he answered simply.

"And power doesn't?" she asked, still skeptical. If only she could trust that he wouldn't go behind her back and make alliances with the Genii or something -- the poison was a valuable indicator, if it was what he claimed, but she had to make sure.

He gave a rueful smile. "I had a great deal of power, not long ago. I lost it, in part because I didn't listen to him as I should have. You can ask Colonel Carter -- she can confirm much of what I have said. Right now, my only goal is to get him well again. If I must offer my assistance and follow the orders of another to achieve it, then I will."

That surprised her. "You'd follow my orders?" she asked. "My leadership?"

He nodded. "If we come to an arrangement, yes." His lips twitched in another smile. "I was general to Ishtar for a longer time than you can imagine. I can do so again." The smile vanished as if it had never been. "So long as our presence here is protected."

"I can't guarantee safety when there's a war -- "

He waved a hand, flicking his fingers sharply. "Not from threats in this galaxy. From the Jaffa and overzealous Tau'ri who will order you to put us through the Stargate, when they learn of our presence."

Oh my God, she murmured internally, and felt her palms begin to sweat. She could do this. Her own pet Goa'uld advisor… Her gaze collided with his -- those dark, sharp eyes of a panther -- and she reconsidered. No, he would never be tame, and she couldn't fool herself to think so. But she did believe he was defanged.

She nodded slowly. "Earth is going to find out. I'll need to get the president and the international committee's support, since I bet O'Neill's going to advise your removal."

She knew why, and so did he, but when she looked at him, she saw nothing of being disturbed by the memory of what he'd done.

He merely smiled faintly. "You need more bargaining leverage?" He tilted his head, thinking. "I can give you the Trust," he offered. "Many of their symbiotes came under my control on Earth."

She leaned back, watching him in sheer appreciation. He shouldn't have any cards at all, and yet everything he played turned into an ace. No wonder he was dangerous. She shook her head a little, smiling, "President Hayes will give you anything you want to be able to shut down the Trust for good. But you'll really sell them out to us?"

"They're a disgrace," he answered shortly. "Stupid and weak, the lot of them. The humans were far more useful. But I owe them nothing."

She nodded then and took a deep breath. "All right. I can't make any promises about what's going to happen - but I think I can make the argument that sending you through the wormhole to get executed by the Jaffa is a waste of your knowledge. So until I hear otherwise , here's what we'll do. You will stay in a secure place, on your parole. If we catch you doing anything suspicious - anything at all that suggests you're lying to me or plotting against the city or me, I'll kick you through the gate."

Baal clasped his hands together at the small of his back. "Understood. And Asheron?"

She was about to threaten him that Asheron would go through the Gate, too, a hostage for Baal's behavior, but bit her tongue, remembering those scars on his back and the vacant terror in his face. She couldn't do it. "Doctor Beckett and Doctor Heightmeyer, our psychologist, will help him. I won't punish a victim."

Baal nodded to her. "You will not regret your decision."

She chuckled once. "I already do. But in for a penny..." she gave a tight shrug of her shoulders. "While I figure out how to word this agreement to the IOA and not sound completely insane, Doctor Beckett wants to speak to you about his patient."

Baal moved near the door of his cell promptly. "Certainly."

The escort took only a moment to arrange, and Ronon was at her side, hand on his gun, when Baal came out of the cell. "Try anything and you die." He towered over Baal, but the Goa'uld glanced up at him, with an unimpressed smirk. "How fortunate for you that I have no intention of 'trying anything.'" He swept past, ignoring Ronon's growl, to join her. "If you are ready, Doctor Weir?"

"This way," she led, with Ronon and John following.

They went to the infirmary. The door slid open and she let Baal go first. Carson looked startled to see him, but moved quickly back away from his patient when she gestured.

Baal's gaze went straight to the bed. "What have you done?" he snapped, his jaw clenched, and he radiated fury in every line of his body as he stalked to the bed. He started opening the restraints with quick, angry gestures. "Did the words 'tortured and held captive' escape your understanding? The last thing he needs is more restraints. Through your stupidity, you may have undone all the progress I made on the ship with him."

He loosened the last strap, and ran his hand down Asheron's arms and the back of his hand. Without looking at her, he demanded, "A room with a window to the outside. You can lock us in, I do not care, but he cannot wake in this small space where you strapped him down."

Carson exchanged a look with her and objected, "He needs intravenous fluids."

Baal shot him a glare. "And I am to believe that can only be done here?"

Weir realized that Baal hadn't stopped caressing his fingers lightly across the back of Asheron's near hand. It couldn't have any effect on Asheron, who was drugged to the gills, but it was a gentle gesture, at odds with the harshness of his words.

And it decided her. "All right," she agreed. "There's a large room in the tower above. It even has a balcony."

"That sounds sufficient for our needs." Baal said, staring down at Asheron's unconscious face.

Weir exchanged a glance with Sheppard, whose face held the same curious amazement that she felt. While she wouldn't put it past a Goa'uld to fake an emotional attachment if he felt it would get him what he wanted, she also thought it was unlikely they would allow themselves to be so vulnerable, unless it was true.

"Doctor," she ordered, "do whatever you need to, to help your patient. Move him to the tower room as soon as it's safe to do so. Colonel," she addressed Sheppard, "keep an eye on our 'guest'. I'm going to contact the SGC and talk to Colonel Carter and General Landry to confirm what he's told us."

John nodded briskly, and behind him Ronon also looked willing and eager to take up guard duty.

At the door, she turned back to see a Goa'uld bent over the unconscious body of a Tok'ra, hand on his chest as if trying to will him back to life, and she shook her head in rueful amazement.

Only on Atlantis.

* * *

Asheron stirred, aware that he felt comfortable and warm. He didn't really want to wake up, but something was drawing him up and he followed.

*_Malek?*_ He felt the other presence curled up in his thoughts, like puppies nestled in a blanket. *_You're back! I feel you again.*_

*_Yes, Asheron. I am here with you; I am much recovered, as are you.* _Malek's love spread through him, glowing strongly as it should, and Asheron basked in the renewal of their bond. Malek enjoyed it as well, before coaxing him, *_You should open your eyes. There is another who anxiously awaits you.*_

So he opened his eyes, already knowing who he would see. Baal sat beside him on the bed, watching him with a faint frown between his brows that cleared to a small smile as he saw that Asheron was awake. "Good morning," he said and the back of his fingers lightly traced Asheron's cheek. "How do you feel?"

Asheron had to think about it for a moment. "Tired," he offered and had to frown. "My mind's sort of fuzzy." He tried to think back through the fog, and had the distinct impression of random flashes of **something** and Baal's face, all of it mixed with fear and darkness that he didn't want to remember, so he gave up the effort. "I feel like I've had a lot of bad dreams. Have I been sick?"

Baal nodded slowly, watching his face. "Yes, you have been quite ill. But you seem much improved this morning."

"Yes, I think I'm better," Asheron agreed. He wasn't sure what he'd been sick **with**, but he had the feeling he hadn't been able to string two coherent thoughts together for quite awhile, so he was definitely better.

Malek said, *_And you may tell him that I feel better as well.*_

Asheron passed the message along, getting him another of Baal's little smiles. "I was intending to ask about Malek next," he said, a little defensively. "But it is good to know."

Asheron looked around, at the high grey ceiling with the graceful arch supports and the wide window on the other side, with a view straight out to blue sky. He didn't remember ever seeing the place before. He turned back to face Baal. "Where are we?"

Baal's smile widened, and he answered, "Atlantis."

Neither Asheron or Malek could believe it. Asheron stared at him then looked at the room again in wonder, noting that the architecture was unfamiliar, yet pleasing. It was Atlantis? Home of the Ancients? Could it be?

He looked back to Baal, who was smirking now, enjoying their confusion. He nodded once. "We are on Atlantis, under the special protection of the Tau'ri expedition."

Asheron felt as though he had woken up in a strange alternate universe and nothing made sense. He blinked, trying to figure it out. They were under the protection of the Atlantis expedition…? "How the hell did that happen?"

"We stowed away aboard the _Daedalus_," he answered, "and I bargained for refuge with Doctor Weir."

Asheron had a vague impression of being on a ship, probably the _Daedalus_, and he didn't think it had been just a matter of 'stowing away'. He was embarrassed to realize how out of his head he must have been, since he couldn't find a coherent memory of the trip at all.

Malek comforted, *_Neither of us were doing well, Asheron. But Baal protected us, that much I remember. It was very strange to see his devotion. I presume that is what truly won Doctor Weir's approval as well.*_

Asheron had never met Weir, but he had heard about her from Sam and Daniel. He agreed that Weir's permission for a former Goa'uld system lord find refuge on Atlantis hadn't been as easy as Baal implied. He snorted. "I bet that was an interesting session."

Baal chuckled. "Oh yes. But she realized that she really could ill-afford to waste our knowledge while they are embroiled in a war far from home. She seems to be an intelligent and practical woman."

"So we're on Atlantis? Really?" Asheron asked and tried to sit up. Baal had to help him, as he discovered he was much weaker than he had thought. His muscles felt like water, and he leaned back against the pillows with relief.

"Yes. In another galaxy." Baal grew very serious and their eyes met. "The Jaffa cannot come here, Asheron. Our enemies cannot reach us."

Dark images tumbled through his head at the reminder, and panic rose up like a suffocating wave. Baal pulled him into a tight embrace, his body a warm, strong anchor that Asheron clung to, trying to keep himself from drowning again.

Baal was whispering in his ear urgently, "We have sanctuary. Do you understand? You are safe. We have found our place."

Asheron put his head down on Baal's shoulder, calming his racing heartbeat and taking comfort in the familiar feel and scent of the body next to him and the strong arms around his back. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he remained himself in the present, not swept away into nightmares.

When he felt capable again, he lifted his head. Baal asked, "Better?" Asheron nodded. Baal leaned forward and very gently touched their lips together. "Good. Then come," he urged. "I want to show you something."

Baal helped him stand, and he found the smooth floor was warm on his bare feet. Wrapping him in the blanket, Baal put his arm around Asheron's shoulders and guided him toward the wall of windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Panels slid aside at their approach and they went through onto the balcony and outside. The wind, tangy with salt spray, tugged at his hair and the blanket.

Blue sky dotted with a few white clouds stretched overhead, meeting the sea far below at the distant horizon. The sun was bright and yellow and warm on his skin, much like Earth's.

He turned and looked up, and he truly believed that they were in Atlantis. High towers stretched up toward the sky, shining crystalline in the sunlight. It looked like no other city he or Malek had ever seen. Alien yet compellingly beautiful.

Looking again at the ocean, he raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes. Baal's arms circled him from behind, to offer warmth and support, and Asheron leaned back into him. Strange, how he could stand on the balcony of an ancient city in another galaxy, wrapped in a Goa'uld's embrace, and it felt right.

Something in his heart eased. The terror that had trapped him in a small, dark space was melting away in the light of the sun, and hope was filtering in to take its place. He was not yet free of his demons, but for the first time, he thought that he **could** be.

* * *

Six weeks after Asheron had left the SGC and unexpectedly turned up on Atlantis, Sam followed him there. She and Daniel (with Vala in tow) were there to look through the Atlantis records for information about the Ori, particularly weapons to use against them.

She saw Baal before Asheron, when he attended their briefing for the staff. He left, while she was catching up with McKay and Lorne, but when she finished, she found him outside, at the railing overlooking the main control room.

It was odd seeing the familiar face in ordinary clothes, but he didn't seem uncomfortable in his black t-shirt and BDU pants, rather than the fancy clothes he'd worn as a system lord. Hell, it was odd seeing a Goa'uld at all, in this place, and especially one with whom she shared so much, even if she didn't want to really think about it. She wanted to hate him, and if she thought about what he'd done to O'Neill she could hold onto that, but really, he didn't seem much like a Goa'uld at all. He hadn't even sneered at anyone during the briefing, though he had rolled his eyes at McKay twice and pointed out an error in his calculations before Sam had a chance, much to Rodney's embarrassment and Sam's amusement.

"Colonel Carter," he greeted but without the disdain he might have had before.

Within, Turan seemed excited, maybe even pleased - she must sense the naquadah in him and recognize the feel of it, as being near one of her own.

"Baal. Is Asheron here?"

"In our quarters," he answered, and smiled faintly. "He is avoiding you."

"Figures," she muttered. After giving her that note, of course he would. "How's he doing?"

"Malek is awake," he answered. "It irks to be grateful to the Tok'ra, but he helps," he admitted. "Physically Asheron is well. Beyond that... it is slow."

"I'd like to see him," she said.

"I presumed as much, so I was waiting to show you the way."

She regarded him in surprise at the invitation, that he would be willing to bring her to Asheron. Noticing her surprise, his lips turned up in a rueful smile, as he folded his arms. "Your visit does not threaten me. In fact, if I thought you would accept, I would invite you to stay with us, Samantha," he said and chuckled at whatever incredulous face she was making.

"You -- you're suggesting...?" she managed to spit out.

There was a smirk on his lips as he turned away, "This way."

She followed him, still stunned by the idea of the three of them. "That's... ridiculous," she said, falling into step beside him. "I don't even _**like**_ you. I'm certainly not entering into some kind of kinky threesome with you."

"Your loss." He shrugged, with that old casual arrogance. "You're attractive, and it would be the logical solution."

She snorted, not even deigning to respond to that. But she found her eyes lingering on the pull of the t-shirt across his shoulders and the muscles of his bare arms, until she pulled her gaze away and faced the doors of the lift. She was _**not **_thinking about his suggestion, because his host might be well-maintained but he was still a hateful Goa'uld who had done terrible things. She couldn't forget that, or she'd be as lost as Asheron.

She was glad when the doors finally opened. She hurried out, into a short corridor. Then she had to stop and let him show her the way.

Baal stopped at one of the doors and held his hand over the small sensor plate. The door opened, but Baal moved aside instead of going in. "He was on the balcony when I left earlier. Take whatever time you wish," he invited. "I will go amuse myself at McKay's expense until Asheron calls me back."

She couldn't help smiling at that. Poor Rodney. "Thank you," Sam told him, begrudging the words but not willing to let them be unspoken. She watched Baal go back down the corridor, but it wasn't until he'd passed from sight that she inhaled a long, slow breath and entered.

The room was spacious, with sparse furniture, a twelve foot ceiling, and a panoramic window that took up one wall. The bed was made and tidy, flanked by small end tables, and otherwise there was only a pair of arm chairs and a table by the window. There were two connecting doors presumably for the restroom and a closet of some kind since there didn't seem to be a place for clothes.

There was little personal in the room, only a wooden box with a checkerboard pattern on top that she recognized as senet on the larger table. But no pictures, no plants, nothing. Of course both he and Baal had fled with nothing, but she had thought they might acquire things here on Atlantis. She smiled, glad she had brought the tea set on _Daedalus._ At least she could give him that back.

Baal had said Asheron was on the balcony, so she walked across the smooth floor and the glass panels slid aside to let her out. The breeze brushed into her hair, instantly refreshing. The view seemed infinite, looking out to the ocean and the deep blue sky. No wonder he liked to come out here.

He was sitting in a cushioned chair with his feet up on a short table. A blanket was tucked around his shoulders, and he looked asleep.

In the bright Atlantean sunlight, his face still looked thin, emphasizing sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes. His damaged left hand, limp atop the blanket in his lap, drew her gaze. She had thought it would be better, or fixed altogether by now, but the first two fingers remained the bony twisted claws they'd been before.

He smiled and said without opening his eyes. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

He thought she was Baal coming back in and he was smiling. Suddenly the _**reality**_ of what was before her sunk in. Asheron was still unwell, and yet Baal had stayed. Her mind couldn't quite grasp that a Goa'uld - one who done such cruelty, at that -- had stayed with a damaged lover, instead of throwing him aside.

"Hi," she said, feeling suddenly awkward. "It's me."

His eyes popped open and his gaze snapped to find hers. His good hand clutched the arm of his chair as if he might get to his feet, but settled back in the chair. "Sam. It's good to see you."

"Is it?" she challenged mildly, sliding into the opposite chair. "You've been avoiding me."

He gave a small shrug. "I thought I should give you space, if you didn't want to see me."

She shook her head. "I'm not mad at you. I do understand," she added more softly when his lips parted to speak but he said nothing. "I wanted to see you. How are you feeling?"

"Better," he answered.

"And?" she prompted. "Asheron, last I saw you, you were about to open the symbiote poison on yourself. I can see you're better than that, but how are you?" she insisted.

"I'm all right. I have feeling in my fingers now," he raised his damaged hand, and wiggled his fingers, "and Malek is slowly fixing it. I've been working out with Teyla to get back my strength."

"I'm glad," she answered. But she didn't miss that he was talking only about his physical health. "You still look tired. Are you sleeping?"

"Not well," he admitted. "Unless Malek helps." His lips twisted in a self-deprecating grimace. "I've picked up the rather lazy habit of napping in the afternoon."

She reflexively smiled back, a bit amused, until she realized what he was really saying. "Nightmares?"

His gaze went out to sea, as if he couldn't bear to look at her and admit the truth. His voice grew soft and he answered, "I'm all right during the day unless something reminds me, but at night.... Baal and Malek do their best to help, but they can't stop my mind from going through it again and again." He swallowed hard and licked his lips. "Doctor Heightmeyer tells me I'm getting better."

"Good. I'm glad you're seeing her," Sam said. "She's the best we've got to help you."

He shrugged off the comfort and the subject, and returned his attention to her, "And you? How have you been?"

"Fine," she answered. "Trying to deal with the Ori. Since we stopped them at Kellana, we know they're going to try again. We're trying to keep an eye out, but it's chaos out there with the Jaffa split, minor Goa'uld being trouble, crime lords...." She shrugged, trying not to think about how likely it was that they were going to miss the Ori's next attempt. At least Earth wasn't going to be suckered into giving them all the energy they needed - but that didn't mean someone else wouldn't.

"Makes you wish for someone to be in charge, doesn't it?" Asheron asked dryly.

She laughed and shook her head at him, teasing back, "Says the former monarch. But yes, we're going to have a problem if the Ori manage to raise an army. Hell, we have enough of a problem with one prior at a time. That's why we're here. We know so little, just what Daniel and Vala learned that first time."

"I've been in the database quite frequently in the past few weeks; I can help you with where not to look," he offered with a sigh. "The Ancients remain annoying and unhelpful in this galaxy as well."

"Somehow I'm not surprised."

A silence fell between them, and while it wasn't exactly comfortable, Sam didn't mind it either. Asheron's eyes turned to follow a high flying bird, darting among the towers of the city above them.

"I wanted to tell you," she broke the silence first. "I don't know if it'll help or not - but Teal'c told us Gerak's dead. He turned up at Dakara in the same cell he'd held you. No one knows who brought him or how long he'd been there, but it was awhile before he died."

His gaze snapped to her as if to check she was telling the truth. His jaw twitched, but that was the only sign of upset as he said, with a biting satisfaction, "Justice."

"That's what Bra'tac said," she said, wanting him to know that there were Jaffa who thought Gerak's acts were wrong. "And I think so, too."

He fell quiet for a moment and then asked suddenly, as if he'd been prompted, "Turan's well?"

Sam smiled. "She got all excited when she felt Baal. I think she missed sensing other symbiotes."

He flinched, as if taking that as criticism, pulled in a deep breath and turned to her. "Sam-- "

She held up a hand to cut him off. "No. I don't want to hear it. I don't want you to be sorry. How many times do I have to say it? I _**understand**_. I wouldn't have called Baal to warn him about the poison, if I didn't. I knew he was the one who could help you. And he did. So I would make that choice again. You're alive and you're getting better, and that's what's important."

"I wish -- " he started, looking at her intently. Then he stopped and looked down at his hands. "I wish things were different," he finished, quietly. "I wish I was strong enough not to need him so damn much. I don't even know why, when it should have been you."

But she'd thought about that and she knew the answer. She reached between them and deliberately laid a hand over his left hand, and curled her fingers around his, feeling the thin, bony fingers beneath her touch. She tried to smile, "I know why. I told you I understand. Because he knows you, all of you, even the bits you think are horrible and ugly and you won't tell me, and he loves you anyway. He's willing to adapt his behavior to your needs, and that... well, that's got to be pretty damn appealing."

He looked down at their joined hands in silent confirmation, and then up at her face.

But she wasn't finished. "I don't hate you; I'm not angry. I know you think I should, but how can I? I miss you. And I wish things were different, too. But you know what? We have time. We can wait. We're Tok'ra, you and me, and no matter what else happens, we'll always have that bond."

Asheron nodded and turned over his hand to clasp hers as best he could. "Yes, we will," he promised. "Malek still wants to be there for Turan."

"I hope so. In the meantime, we have enemies to fight. When the wars are over and you have your head back together, then we can figure out where we go next. All three of us."

Asheron smiled, bright and amused, and corrected her, "Five. I think even a sixth has come to the fore lately. It's not as simple as only three."

She realized Baal's proposed threesome was more like a ... sixsome? A hexsome? She laughed, shaking her head in delight at the complexity that was her life. "We'll figure it out. Even if we need a diagram."

The silence this time was easier, as it fell between them. No longer pressured by the weight of what they hadn't said, she felt more comfortable with their new understanding. In her head, Turan was also radiating peace, reflecting her mood and perhaps rejoicing in being near her own kind.

The towers of an alien city stretched overhead, beneath a sky where none of the stars were the ones she knew, but that didn't matter. The future was wide open again, and whether they came back together as lovers or stayed Tok'ra family, she and Asheron would walk that road together.

_**the end.**_

_**

* * *

**_

.

_I hope you enjoyed the story! I gave you over one hundred thousand words, please give me a few back. __It's SO depressing to see how many people read and how few have anything to say..._

_ But thanks for reading.  
_

_-- __Lizardbeth, Nov. 18, 2009_


End file.
